Eyes that Burn
by Whimsical Omelettes
Summary: Some chapters are in the midst of being rewritten... Like a heroine in every story, she gets the job that determines her fate in ties and relationships, only... she doesn't know it yet. NizumaXOC
1. Otaku Introduction

Disclaimer: I don't own Bakuman. And that sucks. You have no idea how much it does.

* * *

Kanagashi Luna, a self-proclaimed otaku, with mediocre skills in manga-making. She was okay, but not outstanding.

She would prefer to read manga, since the action of picking up a pen and really making pretty pictures on a manga sheet draft sounded tiring even thinking about it.

But she wanted other fellow otakus to experience the same exhilarated feeling of getting a new tankobon volume, or even a new issue of a shonen magazine. Especially Shonen Jump. She was utterly in awe of the mangakas' skills in captivating the audience, and she herself wanted to own that skill.

In short, she was envious.

The most magnificent feature of Luna's room, arguably, was her bookshelf. Standing at a mighty height of six feet, it had six compartments stock full of various objects. An alarm clock, a piggy bank, a small trophy and some few scraps of paper littered the first row, but for the rest of the five compartments, they were all filled with manga. The small tankobon volumes were arranged alphabetically and according to number. Most of them had the proud emblem of Shonen Jump and the memorable characters' faces, drawn from the hands of different manga artists in whimsical styles, printed on the spines of the books. She just loved manga to bits. The Weekly Shonen Jump magazines were stacked in a box just beside the bookshelf. Her aunt/caretaker had once commented on the cramped space of her room being colonized half by the amount of manga she had.

Manga does nothing wrong. It is a perfect and heartwarming source of entertainment. Kanagashi Luna was proud to say that she was in the midst of completing her own manga too. It wasn't good, but that was expected.

Right now, she was smiling from ear to ear as she took the first volume of Crow from her bookshelf. She just plain WORSHIPPED this manga from the bottom of her heart, and was shocked to hear that the author was only a year older than her. A year. Already a pro, from the looks of the art and exciting story. She'd admired him from a stretch of distance for a long time now, and now she may have a shot of getting to know him more personally.

It was all thanks to Kazuha.

The acclaimed manga artist of Crow actually wanted to hire a new assistant. Kazuha had thrust that piece of ad straight up to her nose, insisting that she had nothing to lose if she took a look at it.

She was on the verge of shrieking like a banshee (worse, like a FAN GIRL), when she faltered and hurried to boot up her computer. She needed to send an email to the editor ASAP, and be the first of perhaps many volunteers to offer for the post.

Luna was not a fan girl. If anything, her feelings toward Nizuma Eiji were nothing if platonic.

At least, that verdict remains to be overthrown…

Did she need a resume? It didn't elaborate much on expectations, only that the assistant must be good at drawing. Did the editor need solid proof?

…

Hattori Yujiro is an editor working at Shueisha. He's met countless of mangakas, but his current responsibility was considered the peak of his career's advance.

Niizuma Eiji, the manga-in-responsibility, was his golden egg.

Right now, he was on a roll of describing Crow's many positive attributes.

Although people could hardly blame him for being on high because of his responsibility, it still hurt their ears to listen.

The audience were the team captains and team subordinates, part of the big family that was Weekly Shonen Jump. Right now, they were stifling yawns and rolling their eyes, their jovial mood gradually vanishing. Yujiro did nothing wrong, only that he interrupted them on a particularly busy day. Telephones were ringing, the line was growing longer at the copy machine, and Yujiro just stood there and talked about Crow. Fifteen minutes had passed, and his chatter went on, showing no signs of stopping. His team captain was getting pissed.

"SHUT UP RIGHT NOW AND HELP US RECEIVE SOME PHONE CALLS ALREADY, YUJIRO!" That was what the captain longed to say, but he was a usually impeccably polite man who waited until a person was done speaking. He didn't want to soil his reputation. So he held it in.

A phone rang, and it sounded quite near to his desk. He didn't care whose desk it was on, he just picked it up. Anything to escape from Yujiro's rambling.

"Hello?" His tone sounded sharp, and he was sorry to say that what caused his black mood was you-know-who.

It was a girl. She asked for Yujiro. The team captain breathed a sigh of relief, before passing the phone over to his talking subordinate.

That dammed his mouth up pretty nicely, the captain had to say.

…

After some bouts of clichés, albeit serious discussions for the post of Nizuma's new assistant…

Luna felt like she struck the million-dollar jackpot.

_She got it_.

Her dream to become a manga artist may be half-fulfilled now.

But she couldn't say anything about it now, because at this moment, Yujiro was leading her to the famed mangaka's apartment. She immersed in her dedicated activity of absorbing the appearance of each object they passed on their way, so that she won't forget the route.

They reached the grey door in a matter of minutes. She was bemused to discover that the words, "Eiji Nizuma Co. Ltd" was written in a childish scrawl. Things were getting more fascinating each second…

The editor pulled his phone out, and after punching in some numbers, he held it against the ear, radiating an air of impatience.

Luna reached a fist out to knock the door. She thought she heard a snicker coming from the older man, and she looked to him in curiosity.

He shook his head, phone still by his ear, at her effort.

"That won't work, Ms Kanagashi." He pointed out. "Nizuma can't hear you like that. You'll have to call him. Oh right, I'll text you his number later."

The door suddenly opened with a series of squeaks. Loud, heavy music floated out into the formerly quiet hallway. Luna knew this song. She very nearly had a mind to start a sing-along, when…

A tall and skinny guy, all dressed in purple, stood in front of them, a mobile phone in his dirty hands. He had bushy red hair that was in dire need of a trim, with the bangs swept before his forehead messily. His owlish chocolate eyes widened a fraction when he noticed the unknown girl standing beside his editor. Those dark circles beneath his eyes somehow made the strange intensity of his gaze stand out, in an oddly mysterious way. He looked young, but his face lacked the robust quality of the average hot-blooded teenage male, instead taking on a pale shade.

"Good afternoon, Nizuma." Yujiro began briskly. Luna raised a tentative hand up, saying "Yo" in a somewhat shy voice. She knew it wouldn't make a very solid first impression.

"This is Kanagashi Luna, your new assistant on the weekends. We talked about this, haven't we? Well, you can ask Akiyama or Sato to show her around. See ya, guys." With a brief nod of acknowledgment to the two youths, Yujiro turned away and walked off. He still had a meeting scheduled at Shueisha.

The situation gurgled AWKWARD! in every corner. Mutual staring fests – both teens were intrigued with each other; Luna in the normal way, while Nizuma in a more special and unique way – started, and ended a few minutes after. Nizuma tipped his head to the side slightly, allowing himself one more glance at his new assistant, and nodded as if in deep thought. His eyes were closed, and Luna found herself missing the hypnotic, intense look that she rarely encountered in other teenage boys' company.

But he was a pro manga artist; he wasn't like the 'other' boys. She made up her mind to stop comparing him with other boys, when he was as different as day and night from them.

Nizuma, to her, also seemed to dislike launching into busy conversation with other people; he slunk back into his apartment soon enough.

She followed after his footsteps hurriedly, not wanting to miss a beat. The loud music reverberated in every corner of the apartment unit, and a warm shiver, from the music, started and traveled along her spine. This was how she felt around her favourite pop genres.

The apartment unit wasn't small by average standards; it could probably accommodate a family of five. The living room, with the largest amount of space, had no furniture except assistants' desks, table lamps and office chairs. Five desks were jammed together, from which only two were occupied. Eraser dusts, pencil marks and table-graffiti lined the desk surfaces. The centermost desk, facing the window, was occupied by her new boss. At best, the living room resembled a miniature office. It was sparse and the walls were not painted. Three other doors that led to other compartments in the apartment were situated side by side in the leftmost corner of the room. The kitchen, Luna saw from just now, was uncommonly clean and didn't have the oily scent of cooking; it probably wasn't even put to use.

But from what she saw, Niizuma Eiji sensei was rich enough to purchase this apartment.

One of the assistants, another young man close to her age, but nowhere near as memorable-looking as Nizuma sensei, glanced up from his work. He smiled at her then, and she waved at him in response. He stood up from his place, and approached her.

"Are you the new assistant?" He asked with an air of friendliness. Luna warmed up to him almost immediately.

She nodded, since the music didn't permit her to talk.

He smiled again, and guided her to one of the tables next to his. "I'm sorry about the loud music, but I'm pretty sure you'll get used to it. Nizuma sensei doesn't work as fast without it, you see." He explained. "That old man is Mr Sato, one of the ex-workers for Shonen Jump. Mr Hattori employed him to utilize his skills at shading, see. And my name," The young man puffed himself up pompously. "is Akiyama Tohru. Rookie starter in the manga-making world, and first assistant in his first job as Nizuma sensei's employee." Akiyama spoke of 'Nizuma sensei' with reverence and undying respect. That gained points for him.

And now that they were making introductions, Luna started with hers too. "Kanagashi Luna. First job, first time as an assistant as well. Nice to meet you."

Akiyama's eyes were alit with newfound interest. "Luna? Are you…?"

"Yes. I'm only half-Japanese. I get that a lot." She rubbed her head out of embarrassment. She looked to the other assistant, who, all this time, was ignoring her entirely.

A sudden 'BANG' made her jump.

"Bang! Caw-caw! Crow!" Okay, that BANG came from her boss. That was weird. Those sound effects grew louder as his hand movements grew more frantic and faster. Pieces of paper dotted the ground, and new ones joined them in almost an instant.

"Nizuma sensei makes sound effects as he draws manga. Another quirk of his." Akiyama remarked.

"And it annoys the hell outta me too." A nasal, throaty voice joined in their exchange.

"It's not that bad, actually," Akiyama said defensively, glaring at the old man's back.

"Oh yeah? Try shouting that into my ears and see if I won't slap you silly! Those sounds are better off being muted. That guy's an oddball, he is." Mr Sato shot back indignantly, not even looking up from his work. "And his taste in music sucks." He suddenly stood up and crept towards the papers, and placed the one he was finished on onto a random space. He stuck his tongue out at Nizuma's back. The sight was passed off as disturbing and immature to the other twosome's eyes.

Akiyama rolled his eyes. Luna merely forced out a laugh. It resembled a cough, though.

Their boss continued on, the unhidden insult in Mr Sato's words, either being ignored, or unheard of.

"So, I guess I'd better start working…?" Her mouth stretched upwards with anticipation.


	2. First Word

Disclaimer: I do not own Bakuman, as much as I would have loved to.

A/N: Okay, so here's the revised and edited chapter 2. I warn you to not read Chapter 3 after this, because if you do, you won't understand what the first dialogue continue from.

* * *

"You know I was against you having a job while you're still at school, right?" A woman in her middle years, a native Japanese who wore a flower-checked apron and bottle green gloves, was busy loading dishes out of the dishwasher. She turned to the girl sitting at the dining table, and _tsk_ed in disapproval.

Silence.

"Well, it's not like I can stop you from doing whatever you want to do once you set your mind on it… so I can only ask: How was Day 1?" The aunt finally let a smile grace her mouth, all previous signs of hostility and unfriendliness vanished.

The girl, whose head had been bowed low in concentration of finishing her manga, looked up tentatively, the light in her eyes growing brighter and brighter with happiness and joy. Her hands moved of their own accord to make incomprehensible gestures that elicited a frown from the muddled-up woman. Luna was grinning so widely, she couldn't speak, at first.

"Nizuma Eiji is a PHENOMENON, Aunt Haru." She worded loudly, flapping her arms up and down like an excited chicken.

"Er… define 'phenomenon', if you please, Luna dear," The woman still had a confused look on her face. She was never familiar with the background of manga or manga artists, and every time her niece tried to tell her something related to that, she required further explaining. She thanked the heavens that her niece wasn't absorbed in _anime_; now that would be a catastrophe. Kanagashi Haru strove for realism, not wrongly proportioned cartoon characters with eyes too big for their faces and distinctly high, fake voices that sounded so irritating. Manga… she'll let manga pass for now…

"He's just amazing! He draws manga like nobody's business and makes sound effects while he does so, though one of his assistants hate him for that," Luna paused, a dark look flitting past her jubilant features. "On the other hand, he doesn't seem to interact with anyone else besides his editor. I don't find him much of a talker, and he rarely takes breaks during the day. But he's so interesting…" Aunt Haru thought she detected a gleam in her niece's eyes.

"Okay…" Right. A genius who keeps drawing manga while making sound effects did not resonate with her. But she'll keep that opinion to herself for now.

"And the good thing is that I won't have to purchase Shonen Jump anymore!" Luna, the smile growing impossibly bigger on her oval face, made a peace sign. "Nizuma sensei leaves his own copies lying around, and I bet I can read them for free."

Well, that was one thing to be happy about, Haru thought privately. Her niece used up most of her allowance on that magazine nowadays…

She wasn't against her niece becoming a manga artist; let the kid do whatever she wants, or else she'll just rebel and give us a big headache, that was what her brother told her before he got himself killed in a car accident and she found herself landed with a two-year-old toddler. Her sister-in-law had disappeared from the face of the earth.

But no, raising a child (a considerably well-behaved one, too) wasn't at all that hard. She was just lucky. Her niece kept herself entertained by writing and drawing. Luna was quiet and impassive for her two to eleven years of age. In her later teen years, she didn't give Haru many serious problems, such problems that involved drugs or sex issues. She didn't have a boyfriend, either. Although fights now rose easily to the surface, they made up soon enough, and all was well, at least for a short time. Teenagers were hormonal, Haru understood.

Just a few months ago, she announced to Haru that she would be aiming for a serialization at the Jump magazine and that she was working on her own manga.

"Let the kid do whatever she wants, huh…?" Haru mused.

…

There was once in elementary school, her school teacher asked the students to write a very hard essay.

Cliché? Yes, it was titled 'My Mother'.

Luna had a hard time to squeeze the juices of her brain out for ideas. Her mother was a sore subject to her. She usually flew at the chance of writing an essay, since she loved writing, but now her mind was blank. She didn't want to vent her confusion and anger into the essay and get a low mark.

She'd forgotten how her only remaining parent – no, she wasn't sure if her mother was alive – looked like. The unknown person had green eyes, for sure. A blonde? A brunette? Was she short? Tall? She scratched her head repeatedly until her scalp was sore; the only thing she could remember was a flash of very tan skin… that was all. No eyes, no nose, no mouth, no limbs, no hair, no nothing.

The woman's appearance was like a sinister being coloured in black, much like those antagonists, before the author reveals the identity, in Detective Conan. A question mark kept flashing.

She sat at her desk for a long time. When her aunt came up to call her down for dinner, all the negative emotions burst out like water from a broken dam, and she cried and sobbed and nearly choked herself on a spinach dumpling. Aunt Haru was sympathetic and concerned, an embodiment of warmth and light, so different from her own mother.

She then decided to base the essay on her aunt.

…

Her manga was about a hero who gets warped into a space dimension, and ends up living on Mars. Luna's vivid imagination sometimes ran away from her. Mars was actually a beautiful place full of human beans, where the 'humans' were actually born from beans, thus the 'human beans'. Red colored beans were males, while blue colored beans were females. They had round heads, and a small body when they were born, but grew up to be tall and regal as soon as they reached their adulthood…

Then a light bulb lit in her head: why can't she get someone, maybe Nizuma Eiji, to read it and give her feedback? But the bulb soon ran out of charges; he was a pro, and maybe he'd laugh at her far-fetched story. Her art was stiff, and her characters were not really creative. Anyway, he'd be busy with his own manga.

…

Hattori Yujirou had forgotten to text Nizuma Eiji's number to Luna. Now the seventeen-year-old schoolgirl braced both of her palms on either side of the doorframe, actually thinking of tearing the entrance apart. Her knuckles were red from knocking 20 times, and she was scared that if she pressed the doorbell one more time, the tinkling sound will set the neighbors off.

Stupid arse, she scolded herself. I can't believe I left the _damned_ phone at home…

As she pressed her ear against the keyhole, she could feel the vibrations in her eardrums. The music must be cranked up to maximum volume, now that Mr Sato and Akiyama was not working today. Yujirou didn't give her any information about the assistant(s) who would be working with her on the weekends.

Her hand, of its own will, trembled as it rapped against the heavy wooden door weakly. After she counted backwards from ten, and the door still wasn't open, her head drooped forwards with a 'thunk'. She released a blowy sigh. Just to ease her own boredom, she decided to continue counting backwards: 0, -1, -2, -3… etc.

Then suddenly, miracles of miracles, at -22, the doorknob slid under her lax fingers. It wasn't locked.

What the heck?!

The tones of the music floated into her ears like yesterday, and she distinguished the voice to be punk singer Avril Lavigne. She smiled. Another of her favorite artists today, too. She was so lucky.

The black cloud, which had been thundering over her head for some time now, dissipated quickly enough. Bright sunshine, green grass, blah blah blah… there's a good reason to be happy. Finally.

Nothing but music lyrics sung by Avril's unique vocals penetrated her ears, but as she walked deeper into the apartment unit, the door swinging shut behind her, a BOOM, BANG and CRASH, all at various intervals, exploded.

No, she comforted herself in a hurry. There is no need to ruffle your feathers… It's just Nizuma sensei's odd quirk. Her eyes swept over the room in a sideways glance, but found all the assistants' tables to be empty. Everything was clean. No eraser dust or ink splashes on the desk surfaces. Only the same graffiti. It didn't look used.

The redhead was shaking his head to the rhythm of the song, completely oblivious to the arrival of his new assistant. Luna felt a spark of indignation and concern; if he hadn't noticed her, that meant he wouldn't even be aware if a burglar sneaked in. How reckless of him.

Her second sigh of the day was released, and the music stopped abruptly. The sudden quietness of the apartment was felt so deeply that the silence was actually pretty loud. Sounds of breathing and pen scribbling across paper entered the sounds' scene much later. By then, the new assistant was distracted already.

"Are you upset by the loud noise?" The manga artist, right out of the blue, piped up without preamble. He wasn't facing her, and it was a good thing, or else her composure might've been torn to pieces. His voice seemed to echo around the still unit.

She began to shake her head, but remembered that he couldn't see her, so she let a weak, "No" escape her lips.

That sounded… weird. She cleared her throat.

"Okay then. I just thought your sigh sounded so depressed. Was it because I didn't open the door for you? You came in half an hour late, and I guess you didn't test the doorknob before you entered."

His bland statement had the unnatural effect that made her feel clumsy and stupid. More so when she didn't reply immediately.

"Mr Yujirou had forgotten to give me your number, and I guess he had forgotten to give you my number too. Right?" He continued leisurely when the silence dragged on too long. The pen was virtually flying with skill and agility in his nimble hands. She noticed his fingers were dirty. The ink-stains met up in clumps along his palms and ended at his wrist. His fingernails were in worse condition.

This time, her, "Yes" was decidedly better. Better than her, "No", which kind of questioned her ability to speak properly in the presence of strangers.

Speaking of strangers…

"Where are the others? The other assistants who work for you on weekends?" Ugh. Her nervous question didn't have the God-like effect she was yearning for. She felt like an ant next to a giant human.

There was a pause. The scribbles carried on.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I never had assistants before on weekends." Came the bland tone again.

Uh-huh, so no assistants today and tomorrow. So she was alone. So alone, with her new boss. So her boss was an intimidating male with the prowess of a genius, so she was feeling very uncomfortable now.

So that would explain the sudden buckle of her knees. Luna got on shaking legs to the nearest desk, and the office chair squeaked under her weight. She reached up and pinched her cheek, to remind herself that this wasn't a nightmare.

Her aunt Haru would freak when she hears of her innocent, chaste niece alone in an apartment with a stranger male. That had an ominous ring to it.

What could happen?

"It's dangerous for a girl to be alone with a guy in his apartment, you know." Nizuma sensei spoke up point blank. She laughed, the merry sound slightly tinged with hysteria. She laughed, at the incredulity and wrongness of the whole picture.

"I know, right? But too bad I'm your assistant!" She joked, trying and failing utterly to lighten the situation. A spasm overtook her, and a question rested on her mind.

Is this hyperventilation?

Sadly, yes. She had an acute sense of kinship with the more sensitive and loud girls in her class now. We're all kindred spirits, she mused. They overreacted too much, and she had always complained, but now… she must have a very sick expression on her face. Was there a mirror around here?

The manga artist swiveled around in his chair to face her. The bright, intense gaze in his brown eyes slowly worked their magic, and she gradually calmed down. It was as if he was injecting a nameless drug into her bloodstream that numbed her mind, but made her heart race with trepidation and intrigue. Good thing her vision was intact. She would never want to embarrass herself in front of him.

He was looking straight at her. His eyes did not blink or waver. She stared back in a rare state of defiance, not wanting to back down. Even though she had never had an X-ray in her life before, she could definitely say this was what being X-rayed felt like.

Then he blocked his face with a drawing pad. That page was penciled with different manga eyes, ranging from cool orbs like Kurosaki Ichigo's, fierce determination in Son Goku's, friendly silliness in Luffy's… The tip of his pencil was pointed on another more feminine eye. She squinted at it, and it looked familiar somehow…

"Your eyes, Ms Kanagashi. Your eyes." Nizuma sensei explained. He aligned the drawing to his face with her half nose and chin, and if she hadn't grasped the seriousness in the air, she would have laughed at the contrasting moods in both different eyes.

"Like Mashiro sensei's," He stopped and pointed at another eye. This eye was unmistakably a man's, and it looked much fiercer than hers. "Your eyes BUUUURRNNNN!" Another odd quirk of his seemed to be stretching the syllables of words. And her eyes burned? She had never heard that comment from people she encountered. This was a first. She had to give him credit; he carried his own special kit of adjectives, but expressed them aloud in an incomparable manner. It further thickened the line between normal teen guys and him, the genius.

A vulnerable and temporary look of shy delight crossed her face. She was on cloud nine, and ascending. It was a compliment, and one from her favorite manga artist. A happy balloon blew up in her chest, and her heart fluttered like a trapped bird with anticipation. She wasn't sure of her eyes, but her cheeks were burning now. A smile tugged insistently at the corners of her mouth, and she didn't resist. Her mouth bowed into a graceful half-moon shape. The pressure between her eyebrows was lifted.

Maybe right now, her eyes were shining, not burning.

All thanks to Nizuma Eiji sensei, who tactfully mentioned that fact in that same blank tone of his.

Alright, time to start working.


	3. Happy or Sad?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bakuman, as much as I would have loved to.

A/N: So... new chapter 3. Enjoy.

* * *

Work at Nizuma sensei's apartment had been unexpectedly quiet and it had ended without… complications. For these two days.

The genius bid her goodbye twice with his own style – by crossing his arms together and hollering out, "Good bye Ms Kanagashi!" in a boisterous voice. She left her workplace in an amiable mood.

She had no regrets so far, taking the offer for this job.

The drafts had been fun to work on.

Her drawing capabilities were put to full extent.

She passed her weekend in a very satisfying way. Working from 3 to 9pm in a Saturday and a Sunday was surprisingly agreeable. She had finally found something fulfilling and beneficial for her; who knows, maybe she could put her part-time job as a manga artist's assistant down in her college applications as a credit-earning extra-curricular activity? The opportunities that stemmed from her being a manga assistant were bountiful and endless.

Manga artist… the word floated out of reach, just beyond her fingertips. She had a good sense of positivity syringed into her now. No doubt influenced by her employer's over-optimistic tendencies.

She and the genius alone in an apartment… okay, she would be lying if she claimed that didn't sound wrong; she'll have to keep this a secret from Aunt Haru.

No way was she, Kanagashi Luna, going to quit from her new job. She had no plans of quitting in the near future, probably.

…

The feeling of being jerked awake from a very good dream was crazy and really… SUCKS.

Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Luna still had five days to go before returning to the apartment unit's haven. Her job haven.

When she woke up, bed hair and drool on the side of her face, she uttered a groan as the comprehension cells in her brain reset at a snail's pace due to the confounded early hours of morning, where students had to crawl out of bed, force themselves awake as they washed, dressed and ate. A routinely ritual that up until now, she hadn't even noticed, that was so boring and lifeless. The sun wasn't up, the room was cold and her blanket wasn't serving its purpose. In her mind's eye, her room looked shabby and cheerless now. The hood that sheltered her mind was turning against its owner.

Things were getting drastically rusty. Headache was forming.

How had she survived before? How could she even live without something to look forward to? These two important questions were extremely disturbing. She felt like she was caught in the act of doing something sinful, when she had no idea what she had been doing.

She might've been better off feeding her 'anticipations' with fantasy novels or blood-boiling shonen manga, but now she knew, somehow knew from an instinct, that her hunger would be insatiable until the next weekend, which was five days away.

The suspense, she foreshadowed, would be excruciating torture.

But what choice did she have? She was responsible for submerging herself in deep waters. Now a whirlpool, perhaps by coincidence, or not, was about to swallow her up. Nobody can save her. Even as she reached out for help, nobody could.

Not even best friend Kazuha.

…

School, at best…

Oh well. Ms Potter, the only non-Asian teacher in the entire faculty, praised Luna for her English short story assignment. The girl faked a reaction of hands-rubbing glee, just to humor the English teacher.

Luna, for her own part, did not feel ecstatic in any way. In fact, she was rendered quite speechless; her short story was a gory, bloody gothic tale of a vampire princess slaying her own hero knight and galloping off to her home kingdom. Over there, the vampire princess in turn killed her parents off and ruled the country with an iron fist that might have earned even Napoleon or Hitler's fear. How can Ms Potter even like it? That teacher was so strange. Every time she handed something in early during class time or raised a hand during discussions, she got a smile or a nod of approval. Lucky the other students didn't really notice about her 'special' treatment. Kazuha knew, but she already wasn't into English, so she ignored.

Biology. Dissecting frogs are so interesting. Their intestines had the smell of gardenias and roses. Yum.

She nearly got sprayed by a burst of yellow liquid when she brought her scalpel deep into one of the many twisty tubes in the amphibian's stomach.

Kazuha turned a guy down. No special news. Guys just can't lay their eyes and hands off her friend. She was the queen of seniors in Yakusa North, and Miyoshi Kaya got an honourable mention. The only reason of Miyoshi's ranking was because she's taken. She has a boyfriend. Might Luna supply here that when she says queen of seniors, she meant queen of _single_ senior girls.

Takagi Akito was the fortunate guy to have snared the attentions of the two voluptuous beauties.

Talking about Takagi in front of Kazuha was a chip-on-shoulder injury. Between Miyoshi and Kazuha, there existed a rivalry. The guy was the prize, but the prize was collected long ago. He'd chosen Miyoshi over Kazuha.

Kazuha was a nice girl on average terms, so she was not the type to go badmouthing another girl on Facebook. Her huge chain of friends did not see anything promiscuously dangerous on their News Feed. But she knew better… Best friends are best friends, after all. Best friends reveal their secrets to each other, and Kazuha has done so precisely. Luna was all too willing to let her BF bitch and moan about old-time issues. Mental scars heal, eventually.

She was proof of that.

Her first love had come and go on unsteady ground. Also because he had eyes on another person.

…

Nothing special to report about this week. She might as well lie back and let the boat go along its course randomly.

Enjoy the smooth ride…

Until Saturday comes. Then Sunday. Then the whole week all over again.

The cycle was never-ending.

…

Thursday.

Her manga was half-finished.

…

Friday.

In the messy hallways, every student is susceptible to jolts, bumps and though rare but not impossible, touch. You couldn't help it, unless you have a skill for dodging. Especially during lunch break, since the students aren't allowed outside for food purchase, they loiter around the hallways, mistaking it for the wide expanse space of the mall. Unlike big shopping malls in the metropolitan area, schools are built smaller and compact, a symbol of imprisoning, shackles on the students' four limbs. There is rarely extra space for extra intake of oxygen in the sweaty, smelly hallways jam packed with boys and girls of ages 13 to 18 and having different physiques. You may also see a face you might not want to see.

Luna was with Kazuha, who was skipping aimlessly beside her, both of them intending to retreat to the hopefully-empty rooftop of the faculty. It was either the roof, or the field. The field was usually already occupied by soccer players practicing their drills, so that option was quickly abandoned.

In the A wing hallway, they were jostling to the other side, when Kazuha's uncharacteristically clammy hand clenched hard over her companion's arm. She was looking forward, her eyes wide open in shock.

A sea of faces plastered with each of their own divergent countenances were, at first, undiscernible from one another. She couldn't see what spooked her friend out.

Then the person, or rather, people, met them face to face. They were right before them. Both parties recognized each other.

The thick crowd was trickling into another direction, but the process was sluggish, so they were uninterrupted with their staring contest.

Green eyes met blue eyes. Brown eyes met sandy eyes. Another pair of kinder brown eyes darted over to the sandy eyes first, then back to the brown eyes.

Two boys and a girl. The girl was clinging on the arm of the taller boy.

A flicker of apprehension crossed the blue eyed boy's face. He lost, and looked away. The taller boy, the one with sandy eyes and glasses, looked at his girlfriend instead. The girlfriend betrayed no sign of animosity towards the two girls, but she also had an almost-guilty expression on her chubby face.

When Luna thought back to this nostalgic situation, she thought of a lot of things to say to them and their chummy relationship, but she couldn't. Not at that time. She couldn't. She couldn't say them aloud, as smart or as funny as the vibes were. It was over. She doubted she would ever see them so much. They would choose to avoid her and Kazuha, even though it was clear that the three of them were on the wrong side of the scale.

She wanted to clarify that she didn't hate them. There was just a shipload of interlaced history between them. History that had gained size and volume throughout the sands of time. This history had once endowed her with gnarled scars on her heart, and relinquished her into a woozy zombie with no sense of direction, for only a few weeks. That few weeks were so bad, she didn't want to say it out yet, lest the ache came back and haunted her again. That ache will never fully disappear, even if she willed it too. Not everything was in her control.

…

As the rays of the morning sun penetrated the darkness of her closed eyes, all of her other senses were instantly sharpened and alerted. The feel of the soft pillow under her head and neck; the hard single mattress under her back; her blankets, finally warm from cocooning her body and hoarding body heat. Today was a warm day, it seemed, what with the absence of the chilly air in the open-windowed room.

Saturday.

How strange. Why wasn't she reacting the way she would usually react? Today was a good day, when she would go to work, and happily deluge herself in blissful peacefulness for the rest of the afternoon, and tomorrow.

An impromptu image shimmered in the recesses of her mind. A pang of sadness swung down like a hammer hitting on a blunt nail. The headache was coming back, all prolonged twinges mapping out from the base of her skull. She reclined on her bed for a while longer, her head hung forwards, black hair shielding her crinkled features.

She inhaled unsteadily, waiting as the twinges ceased. The face still hovered, though.

She knew beforehand that her day was not going to be as happy as she wanted it to be. Friday would be a dark thundercloud over Saturday.

…

Luna sat at her place, her tongue lolling out as she concentrated, her dip pen tracing speed tracks on the page. The music was tuned down, and Hayley William's voice, once diminished, did not have the powerful effect that inspired her hand to move faster. Nizuma sensei's hand was hustling along, as usual, she noted with some bitterness.

How did he do it? Did his hand had a mind of its own?

She felt sleepy, which wasn't an everyday habit. Must be last night's rendezvous with the computer again, she thought, covering a yawn behind her fingers. Her eyes, on cue, grew wet. Her line of vision blurred, and her eyelids grew excessively heavy. First the headache after being awake, and now the headache. How lucky was Luna going to get?

Her desk top materialized into her pillow, beckoning her to just lie her head on it, for only a few minutes. A little snooze would never hurt. The decision to give in over to her selfish needs and the thought of being caught in the act of lazing in her first job warred within her.

To hell with pride. Nizuma sensei rarely checked on her, so she might as well snag this opportunity to take a nap.

"Kanagashi-san…? Kanagashi..." That voice was familiar. It had a soothing but not soporific quality, and the sound of her first name with that voice saying it… Who was that?

She jerked upright and almost collided with a person's face. She immediately felt for drool on the side of her face, and was glad to find none.

Nizuma sensei squatted in front of her, his expression inscrutable. At this close proximity, she could see every inch of his face, and was mildly surprised to find no messy stubble or facial hair on his chin and jawline. Up close, his eyebrows appeared thinner, and his eyes seemed to bug out from their sockets.

She didn't have time to finish her observation, because he leaned back as soon as he saw her awake.

"You're sad about something." He remarked. That hit her vital spot, her weakest spot where…

"No." She hastened to deny. She hated lying, and that weakened her force of denial. "I just… I'm sleepy, that's all." Guilty to meet his gaze, she faced her remaining work, which had piled up during her short nap. Short? The time showed four fifteen. She had been out for an hour and fifteen minutes. Oh God. She rubbed her flaming face.

Her boss, apparently from lack of interest, strutted back to his chair. Then he stood stock still, as if struck by lightning.

"I'm hungry." He stated blankly.

"Huh?"

"I want ice cream."

This was one strange conversation. Ice cream was fine, but why…? She looked at him in perplexity, trying and failing to figure out the framework of his current mind. He betrayed no emotions, no leakage of twitching on his mouth or eyebrows. He was staring at her in nonchalance, as if the idea of ice cream is an everyday necessity and habit he'd gotten used to. She bit her lip unconsciously, and was painfully aware of the thick tension charging, roiling into an abstract shape, gaining momentum each lingering moment.

"Fine… But why?" She blurted out the last question. She was curious.

His stare grew more intent and calculative as his mouth moved to reply. "Ice cream helps improve the mood, doesn't it?" He'd dodged her question with another one of his own. She sat there tongue-tied, not knowing if she was too scared to reply, or if she just didn't know what to answer. Stupid girl.

She was backed into a corner whence if she refused, she'd surely face rapid-fire questions; or simply walk into an unknown situation unguarded and possibly also being pelted with enigmatic statements, with this genius of a manga artist by her side. She'd have to keep guessing and fit all the pieces of his quirky quotes like a jigsaw puzzle, not that she hated puzzles, but she was only scared of missing puzzle pieces.

Oh well. She was certain of one fact: that she wasn't a girl to step down from anything in the least intimidating.

…

The park was filled with couples and young people around her age, all humans dressed in white, red, black or any other color, with the green patchwork of grass – and occasional towering oak trees – as the cheerful backdrop, giving the whole place a balmy air. It was in the late afternoon, so the sun hung at the far west side, glowing yellow and orange, casting a halo around the tree leaves. Peals of tinkering laughter and low murmurs of conversation melded together in harmony, creating a comforting deep hum Luna found pleasing.

The slunk figure trotting a few feet before her, cloaked all in deep purple, received curious glances from some inquisitive individuals. A gaggle of teenage girls giggled and purposely talked loudly as they passed him. Luna wasn't sure if it was incidental or not. She rewarded them with some glares of her own to be sure, and was chagrined to find them smirking like they won the lottery.

In time, a small ice cream stand that was almost swallowed over by the mass of human bodies came into view. Nizuma's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he tipped his head backwards, literally, with his chin up in the heavens, and pointed at the stand decisively. She nodded, her mind preoccupied with the way his head bent like that, and wondering if his neck would snap.

She was halfway through the cue when she also wondered how the heck she ended up in the line, with Nizuma sensei, his hands thrust in his pockets and strolling idly around the broad field of the park. He finally settled down on a bench, rubbing his hands together.

…

Luna got her favorite flavor, thankfully, before it ran out after the person before her purchased FIVE of the same flavor. Somehow the last scoop tasted a million times better than it usually did. Vanilla rules. Yeah.

Her sensei, however, had a look of resentment evident directed towards the ball of pink ice cream. He surveyed the cone in his hands with the aversion like it was a bomb ready to explode in a few minutes.

She poked his shoulders, and with her whole scoop practically in her mouth, she raised her eyebrows.

"No chocolate? Seriously?" He returned indignantly, pursing his lips like a two-year-old toddler ready to stamp on the floor and burst into tears. His tone had the whiny effect Luna was seasoned with, after all her experience of babysitting Kazuha's little hellions, no, brothers.

She shook her head firmly, too lazy to talk while the icy goodness melted in her mouth and gums. The sensation rocketed into the root of her teeth, and it felt tingly good. She preferred to bite into ice creams, thinking that licking sullied the way of consuming cold and creamy desserts. It looked uninvitingly suggestive, especially with the company of an opposite gender right beside you, looking longingly at your scrumptious vanilla delight. It was also disconcerting, when you tried to ignore him, but couldn't.

She tried to supress her eye-rolling. This was not a very attractive side in her sensei; so what can she do to prevent this side of him to show up?

Then he did the unforeseen. In front of everyone else.

He enclosed his thin fingers around her own, which were holding the cone. Her grip was almost lost when the warmth in his forged some kind of a strange static with her palms, knuckles, fingers. With a fluid movement, he ducked down and unabashedly bit off a whole part of her ice cream. His teeth marks showed clearly on the melting cream. His mouth was puffed up like a chipmunks who'd swallowed too much acorns, and he swallowed.

She could only react by nagging at the smears on the side of his lips and offering him a tissue. Her thoughts were in whirl, and once again, he'd caused that tornado. She'd have a whole night to decipher this whole, confusing episode.


	4. After the Ice Cream Moment - thoughts

Disclaimer: DITTO

* * *

Despite what Japanese residents said, Tokyo was still a city that valued environment up above anything else. There were numerous trees planted along the sidewalks, near the park. Those trees had stayed for more than five decades; they were tall and most importantly, thickly sheltered with leaves and GREEN in color. During springtime, the trees would burst in bloom, sprouting out pink or yellow flowers. The Tokyo city would look especially radiant, at that time.

The trees provided enough shade for both Luna and her companion, mellowing out the strong, ultraviolet sun rays. Through the creases of the leaves, a breeze blew by, sending them aflutter. Pedestrians lined up at the sidewalk, preparing to cross the streets. Cars rarely gave out unpleasant noise; honking was considered rude and crude here. Immigrants, beware.

She dropped down on a bench. Her sensei followed suit. The ice cream was long finished; but she had the feeling that the boy beside her might desire more. After all, he wasn't satisfied with his own. Even stealing a bite of hers wasn't enough to sate the hunger monster in his belly. She could hear the growling, almost. Maybe if she sat closer to him – they were about two feet apart – she could ask him if he wanted more of the fattening dessert. Speaking of which, the slow signs of ache in her stomach had arisen. It happened every time; once a Starbucks frappucino, a dose of ice-cold yogurt, and now, an ice cream. If her stomach was empty when she consumed cold foods, she was to suffer for about three hours straight, with at least five trips to the bathroom.

No, she couldn't bear the thought of dirtying her sensei's washroom.

It was a bad idea, agreeing to his idea. But strangely, her empty, black-hole-like feeling had gone. She felt… normal, the first in three days. All three days had been hell-raising demonic anxiety. Her headache was gone, too.

He wasn't without quirks. That's great.

She cast a glance at him, when she found that HE was also looking at HER. Staring. Her heart did a funny somersault. How long had he stared at her? She suppressed the urge to groan and cover her arms over her head. Being exposed was not good; she had always been a private person. She hated having her deep-seated emotions being dug out; and she knew that her boss was a very experienced digger.

Why, his gaze did not even flicker. This person sure wasn't timid.

Her neck was burning; not from the sun. Her eyes felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets; remaining there, unblinking, was a tough activity. People around them were oblivious to the heated exchange between the two youths; they passed by, gave them just another second look, and continued en route to their separate destinations. To the observer's eye, the green-eyed girl and the garbed-in-purple boy were merely playing a very serious game. Nonsense. Games weren't serious at all.

Luna could see Niizuma sensei's mouth parting. The words flowed out naturally, like he had timed at this exact moment to say them.

"Thank you for the treat, Kanagashi-san."

No flicker. She gave up, and her eyes moistened in relief. She must look like a doll, blinking furiously like that.

"You're welcome, sensei." She gave a half smile.

The spectators – unbeknownst to the two of them, whom were trapped in their own colorful bubble – sighed with contentment.

The boy looked upwards at the dark green leaves, shadowed by the backlighting of the sun. The sun shone through the creases, and the light hit his bangs, and one of his eyes. His pupil minimized at the extreme light, but he didn't squint, unlike most people. All noises around them blurred into one shape-shifting pattern, and all she could hear was the sound of their breathing. He had that awesome effect on people, that otherworldly charisma that compelled ordinary others to look up to him. It was as though his being a manga artist was per chance, not that he wasn't good at his job. He was brilliant at it. Were all geniuses like him? They exuded a certain aura that distinguished them from others, and now she knew.

"I… I haven't been outside of my studio for a long period of time now," He murmured, so softly that she had to lean in nearer to catch it. He brought his palm upwards to his forehead, probably getting slightly foggy vision now. He should be seeing black spots, after that long time staring up at the sun, Luna knew from experience.

She didn't know what to say to him. He seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Why?" That was the only word she could think of, that could encourage him baring more of himself to her. She slid towards him half-eagerly, trying not to dread him shifting away from her. But he didn't. He discarded his sandals, and sat in a cross-legged position. His eyes followed a heavily pregnant young woman leading a dog by its collar, a pair of kids cycling pass, and a stocky man, his face hooded under his baseball cap. Curiosity lit up his face, chasing away the previous serenity that had ALMOST, ALMOST, swept Luna off her feet.

"It's really interesting around here, Tokyo. And the best desserts are easily accessible, compared to the slow service back at Aomori," He looked at her again. But this time, the look was brief, and he directed his attention back to the passersby once more. "Ice cream over there's quite… scarce." A sad expression crept over his five features. She had the urge to cheer him up, though she had no idea how.

"I see." Ah. Now it was getting awkward. What was she to say next? Or will he take the wheel again? She leaned back against the bench, the hard wood ingrained into her back. It didn't really feel comfortable. Then again, the atmosphere was getting hotter, and she wanted to return to the apartment as soon as possible. Thinking that he'll also comply, she got up and stretched. The question uncovered itself in her eyes. Niizuma had his brows knitted together for a bare second, and finally stood up.

"Right. There's still work for you in the apartment. Sorry for dragging you out." He sounded aloof now. The stilt that had vanished after their outing returned, and they were as distant to each other as they were before. Employer and employee. Even when she hated the superficial label, there wasn't any choice in the matter. Besides, it was him who sought an intangible space between them.

He led the way back to his place. Without him hearing, she sighed.

…

Crow's drafts were amazing, as usual. The nonpareil characters and memorable story line was…

Luna didn't want to sound repetitive, but what's a fact remains a fact. A very true fact.

Oh well. Crow was, and still is, a smashing great unparalleled beautiful manga. Beautiful as in the wholeness in the adventure genre. Once she read a chapter, she just had to go on. She would be pretty much deaf to everything else, unless Aunt Haru, pissed, stormed to her room and shouted DINNER'S READY thrice in a row. Third time's the charm, she had always known.

Today is indeed her third day working at Niizuma's. She wondered what could happen today.

Wait. It already happened. When he asked her for ice cream.

She had no regrets, though. The chance of seeing him in his short but sweetly vulnerable moment of nostalgia… quite worthwhile. She knew she was considered lucky by high standards, when she first heard Hattori Yujiro say YOU GOT THE JOB CONGRATULATIONS. Every fan engorges a daily dose of need to waste themselves before a portrait of their personal celebrities. Not to say she hasn't done it before – yeah, she was embarrassed to admit that she had spent her afternoon desolately staring at the cartoonish avatar, a replacement for his real face. Nonetheless, the avatar was cute.

Although she knew she WASN'T in love with him, she could allow that she was fascinated by him. Yes, maybe also infatuated. But she was seventeen years old, and infatuation was way too immature.

Right now, she glimpsed his back profile, seeing the tilting of his shoulders. As usual, he would spout out with sound effects. It wasn't annoying, thank God. The one thing she absolutely couldn't stand was clamor, but his clamor… well. Yeah. There were exceptions to every rule, wasn't there?

His chair squeaked, and she was jerked out of her wandering thoughts.

Oh, God… his stare was like incinerators. She looked down, not daring to meet his eyes.

"I think…" He pointed at the clock expectantly. "It's time for you to leave." His Crow feathers wobbled, and he caught them right before they hit the floor. The long golden needle was pointed dead at twelve, while the short, fat needle paused at eight.

She really had to go home now. Aunt Haru would get driven up the wall.

"Okay, thanks for telling me." But a sense of foreboding slowed her in the way of keeping her things. Was he… getting rid of her? No, no. She needn't think of sorrowing thoughts like these.

"Bye." She called over her shoulder.

…

Niizuma sat on the chair, twisting his body into many angles. It was one of the many quirks that surged his muse forward. Though, he hadn't thought of the importance it had right now. He mostly didn't do this stretching-slash-acrobatics exercise, until today. It was by coincidence that he stumbled upon this new way of setting his mind ablaze with ideas for Crow; from, yes, from Yujiro's unholy influence, a yoga channel. The editor, probably not in his element that fateful day, meandered over to his studio and nagged on and on about how Crow needs to be more 'furnished'. The story's too rough, blah blah…

And the editor, bored out of his mind by his manga artist's ignorance, switched the TV on. Niizuma rarely turned the TV on; it was all a messed-up hullabaloo, as bad as shojo manga.

Then the editor grew silent. The mumble-jumbo that had tumbled out of his mouth non-stop ceased. When Niizuma looked up half an hour later, he saw a lot of skin. Like a stereotypical male, he continued looking.

Five women were reclining on yoga mats, engaged in arousing stretches, their long, tanned legs high up in the air, dangling slightly. Some of them didn't even look Japanese. He guessed that they were like Luna, a Eurasian.

Back to the point, their stretches that included legs on top and bare buttocks almost showing completely in their spandex shorts, did not originally give him a light bulb in the head. Only after fifteen minutes of hand-pausing, eyes-burning madness did the positions changed drastically. They began stretching their other limbs, tangling their arms around their heads in an intricate jumble. He was interested, but not in the sexual, physical way – though granted, he HAD been. Their poses looked challenging, and he liked a challenge anytime. So when Yujiro left, he tried one.

Surprisingly easy. It didn't take even a minute. He was careful to keep this a secret from his assistants, and most importantly, Yujiro. Once they discover his veiled interest for stretching, they'll… he'll say that he'll lose respect points from them.

But why today? Why should he revert to stretching when this hasn't happened before? He could just sit there on the couch, staring at the ceiling and counting the damp spots, while plot ideas of Crow get pumped in through an invisible pipes in his web-like mind. Anything can occur in his brain, and he lets 'anything' go on. Quite a vital point in his brainstorming times. To think of out-of-the-box, he gives in to his wild imagination and everything, EVERYTHING passes through his brain cells. He shocked himself on numerous occasions when he thought up of something utterly unbelievably crazy. He was not about to say what.

All a secret. ZIP.

* * *

A/N: Hopefully this is better than my previous version. I'll move on to Chapter 5, but probably not before I'm done with updating the newest chapter.


	5. Guaranteed Lice Removal - Part 1

Disclaimer: DITTO

* * *

The manga was about to be succumbed into a gigantic… no, a COLOSSAL makeover. It needed more speed lines, richer expressions on the characters' blank countenances, more sound effects (perhaps those that won't make the manga SOUND lame) and cleaner lines along the speech bubbles. Her grammar mistakes had to be corrected and her erroneous use of hiragana also had to be straightened out. FYI, kanji was way more complicated than hiragana or katakana. Kanji had CHINESE characters in them.

Luna was up all night, the only table lamp shining on throughout the late hours. Her eyelids betrayed her sometimes, and led to an ink bottle spilling over a page. She gave up and went downstairs to the kitchen, stealing coffee from Aunt Haru's midnight stash. That helped a little with her concentration. The streets were empty and alight; whenever she looked down from her second-storey window, she half-expected a ghostly figure garbed in white standing under the streetlights listlessly, the dirty yellow glow illuminating the transparent figure… The ghost looked up at her. Luna's heart stopped in that second, and started contracting painfully. She fell down from her office chair, sweating profusely and yielding herself to the fitful seizures. In a moment, the ghost flew up to her window, and Luna saw her own bleeding body reflected from the ghost's pale and wispy eyes… she gave a loud shriek…

She blinked her eyes open, dazed and disoriented. Rain was falling, and her body was shivering. She groped around for a shred of clothing, but instead found her hands half-submerged in muddy water. A sticky and damp pressure pulled around her waist insistently, and she stood up, brushing the brown wet stuff away in irritation. As her hand moved to wipe away the remaining smudges, she found damp skin. All the coldness… the wetness…

She was naked, standing there, allowing the rain to come pelting down on her. On instinct, she used her arms to shield herself. Everything looked dark and blurry together, somewhat distorted at the edges, like a low-quality photograph. A circle of pale white slowly came into focus, however, and faces gradually appeared. They loomed before her menacingly, roving their greedy eyes all over her body. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Every face had a different expression.

Then a familiar face with all five features she'd memorized by heart. The person's eyes were not on her body, but on her eyes, lingering there imperceptibly, his gaze having a sense of good humor and jolliness…

BUMP.

A sore bump formed at the back of her head. Her eyes squinted together automatically. It wasn't nighttime; the strong rays of the sun shone into her room, making her feel hot and stuffed. A mug stood innocently on the corner of her desk. Her dip pens, luckily, did not splatter black ink lines across her manga pages. A bird was chirping. A distant shout. A child's voice. Sounds of a normal day. Today was…

Luna flailed for her phone; today was Saturday, April 16th …

Work day. How did the week fly by so quickly? And the time was…

2:30 p.m.

What the-?!

Luna simply threw on a pair of jeans, and jackknifed out of the room.

…

Nizuma's phone vibrated, the movement rattling the desk slightly. The cylinder of pencils fell over, clattering his work. Nizuma knitted his eyebrows together in confusion; another bad omen?

'Burning Luna' was here.

Not in the mood of receiving the call like last time, he got up reluctantly and reached the door in five long strides.

"Wow. Don't you look… unkempt?" Luna commented slowly after the door opened, her pupils widening.

It was true. Nizuma barely kept his bathroom schedules up-to-date, as opposed to his hectic schedule of drawing Crow. Sure, he'd brushed his teeth and washed his face, but he hadn't had a proper bath for… two days? He smelled the underside of his arms, not bothering to mask the movement in front of a girl. Not smelly, but worn. Luna didn't look disgusted; she merely watched on, her eyes beholding a keen interest in his actions. To her, his hair was most interesting. Nizuma's hair had the tendency to grow stiff overnight when he forgot to bath, and now it spiked outwards in various angles, looking like he'd newly gelled it. Panda eyes, worn attire and faux gelled-up hair. It all feels so familiar… yes...

"You're not doing a very good imitation of L, Nizuma sensei."

"Sorry." Nizuma scratched his hair vigorously.

Then Luna's face turned on the FULL ON PANIC switch button. She pointed a trembling finger at Nizuma sensei's fingers. Some small, miniscule bugs were stuck to his fingernails. Nizuma sensei, however, didn't panic.

"Oh. Happens all the time. Don't worry, Kanagashi-san," Nizuma said smoothly, continuing with the scratching as he walked further back into his apartment unit. The 'skrat, skrat' sound even gave Luna shivers.

"It happens… all the time? Sensei… don't you realize that lice can jump over to other people's heads of their own accord?" Luna stammered, her own head now getting the tingles. From where she stood, Nizuma sensei's red head looked smooth and still, but the thought of active lice laying their eggs, making a nest of his head was extremely disgusting.

If she waited for the sensei to take a bath (which she was sure would be possibly NEXT WEEKEND), she would get a head-full of lice for real. Ew. She had to force him, or blackmail him into bathing somehow… but God knows whether he could even get rid of all that parasites!

"I'm going out for a moment." She got a word in before she ran outside.

Her footsteps were so loud, Nizuma thought, crouching on his chair.

…

The shopkeeper was kept in a bright and happy mood all day, after a certain girl had purchased TEN bottles of 'Guaranteed-Lice-Removal' tonics from his humble shaft. She'd cornered him by the cashier, demanding a hundred valid reasons for helping her choose this special tonic.

"I... Young lady, you shouldn't speak to your elders that way," He'd huffed impatiently, crossing his arms in front of his dirty apron.

The girl shook her head stubbornly, and pointed at the lone bottle in her hand. "I have an emergency situation back at my apartment. So just tell me the pros and cons of using this…" – she glanced at the label – "Botanical Insurances' Lice Removal Shampoo," She made a face. "What does 'botanical' have anything to do with lice?"

It had been a long, tiring row. He thought the part where the 'emergency situation' excuse sprung up was fabricated.

All in all, luck was finally on his side. The shopkeeper's eyes glinted greedily as he used sticky hands to count the cash.

…

Luna tried the door by herself, and found it unlocked. With a simple 'chack' sound, it opened.

"Kanagashi-san? Where have you been?" Her boss was still in his desired crouching position, nibbling on the feathered end of his Crow wing thoughtfully.

Luna decided to avoid the question. She had a plan in her mind, and she wasn't about to let her trip to the drug store go to waste. She only hoped the sensei would be… docile enough. The plan was a little… domineering, for a girl. It all depended whether her sensei would trust her...

She took a deep breath, steadying the rate of her heartbeat.

"Sensei."

"Hmmm?" Nizuma sensei scratched his nose. He surveyed the white dust-like substances on his hand intently, and blew them away.

"There's a GIGANTIC cockroach in your bathroom. Can you flush it away?" Luna even pinched her nose, and added a girlish gasp, for effect.

"If it's in the toilet, I think you can do it." He didn't sound reluctant, but rather lazy. The sensei began scratching his head again.

Luna shook her head. "No… maybe it's in the bathtub. And as long as it remains there… you wouldn't want me to have bladder infections, do you?" She said timidly, carefully shifting her eyes away from him.

There was quite a long pause.

"I'd think you were a brave person, what with those burning eyes, but it seems that I've made a false assumption… for the first time in my life," Nizuma sensei stood up, and strutted over to the bathroom door, his hands rigidly stamped on his sides. There was no fearful lilt in his step, nor did he seem particularly interested in the prospect of getting rid of a pesky creepy-crawly. Luna, before following him in, quickly chose a random bottle from the plastic bag.

Nizuma's sound of, "Kanagashi-san, there's no cockroach here…" was muted off when she shut and locked the bathroom door behind them.

He pursed his lips together in perplexity. The lock was in place, the almost absent 'click' sound diffusing through the air. A fresh scent of lemon and kiwis floated around the enclosed-but-ventilated area. No question was needed, apparently, when Luna brandished the bottle of tonic triumphantly above her head.

"Since you probably need a WEEK to get those lice out of your hair, I'd prefer if I did it for you," The assistant explained, bracing her tall figure against the door, blocking his escape route. She deposited the tonic on the sink, and looked at the sensei, who was having a mask of indifference on his face, albeit eyes widening a little. Luna crossed her fingers silently, hoping he wouldn't come up with excuses like 'my deadline's almost near' or 'Crow needs more touching up to do' or anything else to wriggle his way out.

Instead, Nizuma sat on the edge of the bathtub, his posture bent and twisted like an old man's. "Go ahead. Just don't scratch the area behind my ears; they're ticklish," He said in a deadpanned expression.

"O-oh, okay. Sure, just don't move. I've done this for… for my cousins a lot of times before. And I won't touch your ears, I mean, I won't touch the area BEHIND your ears, ha-ha…" Luna flailed for purchase on the sink, and the tonic fell over.

"I see," Nizuma muttered. His assistant heard him, though.

She jutted her chin out defiantly. "What's the matter?" Her tone came out in a rusty note, like a blade screeching over the surface of cheap metal.

"You stammer when you're nervous." He said off-handedly. Again, those brown eyes of him were so unnerving. It's like they peel away piece after piece of what concealed her underneath, and the feeling of standing naked in front of a crowd is so overpowering...

…And the fact that she was thinking this was also unnerving… She concentrated on the bottle of tonic, willing her mind to delete those distracting images off.

The tonic came out in a sickly green color, but thankfully had no rancid smell of the sort. The last time she did it, her whole head smelled like a garbage dump for two full days!

"Don't be nervous, sensei. It'll be over quick," She consoled, her heart pounding a LITTLE faster.

"I could say the same to you, Kanagashi-san. Just don't make all my hair fall out." His toneless voice gave a bigger pressure on her shoulders.

She managed a half-hearted laugh, and rubbed the tonic on her hands, making green bubbles appear. She took a deep breath, extending her hands toward her sensei's red tresses. Then a larger hand grasped her wrist, the grip neither painful nor very gentle.

"Your hand is trembling. Please calm down, Kanagashi-san. Do you want me to tell jokes to you? To lighten the mood? Truth be told, I also am nervous…" Nizuma sensei confessed, absently sliding his thumb up and down over her skin. That did little to cease the trembling, of course.

"N-no, that's fine. Stay still." Without giving it a second thought, she jammed her fingers a wee bit too hard into his scalp.

"Ow."

* * *

**A/N: Okay? No? **


	6. Guaranteed Lice Removal - Part 2

Disclaimer: DITTO the last chapter. Honestly, I want to skip this part, but…

* * *

A big SPLAT. Luna's right cheek was scored… by a handful of bubbly shampoo. She was lucky it didn't target her eyes. It wasn't a silly mistake or her wanting to reach up and scratch her nose, but Nizuma sensei's head was moving. She was powerless to stop the bubbles from catapulting off his now-white-and-frothy head, and had to dodge, further letting those frothy bubbles target the wall or the sink. Every single item in the bathroom were inexplicably clean, and she wondered how Nizuma sensei took the time to clean his own bathroom when he couldn't bear to be separated with his manga.

The silence hung in the air, and Luna began to experience the beginning twinges of awkwardness. She opened her mouth to say something, but bit her lips at the last minute, swallowing the words back into her stomach. To make things worse, Nizuma sensei was humming. Not humming song lyrics, as she expected he would, but humming in contentment. Little, unnoticeable grunts of satisfaction whenever her hands passed over a sensitive spot.

She then remembered the word of warning he'd given her: don't touch the area behind my ears.

Needless to say, she got curious.

She bided her time, insinuating her fingers with more strength, and scrubbed Nizuma's scalp with renewed vigor. Each time her fingers wandered far below his hairline, almost grazing the nape of his neck, she pulled them back stubbornly, not letting herself be given over so soon to silly temptations. After a few more minutes, her fingers started to ache, and she was growing fretful for more action and excitement in this compacted space. Nizuma tipped his head back slightly, giving her more access to his long bangs. Her head was spinning from the fragrance, and she accidentally – okay, maybe NOT so accidental – let her fingers drift downwards, pausing behind the free earlobes. She started from the right side.

She slowly used her index finger to brush against hairless area there, however miniscule and unnoticed that movement could've been, she felt Nizuma sensei's head jerk up a bit. His body turned lax as he relaxed again, the previous action probably due to a reflex.

Luna fought to smother a giggle. She repeated the motion again, on the left side, applying more pressure to the 'accidental' graze. His head moved again.

"What are you doing, Kanagashi-san?" His voice sounded languid and sleepy, but alert.

"It's Luna," She corrected him for distraction. "Repeat after me. Looooonnaaaaaa," She ordered, forcing her stiff fingers to work harder.

Nizuma didn't respond to this. Luna was fearful he'd reject her request, but-

"Alright, Luna," The sound of her name on the tip of his tongue was like heaven, and she felt happy and sated. But sadly, he was NOT distracted.

"I thought I told you not to touch the area behind my ears," He said listlessly, changing his sitting position. Luna followed his every movement, which made her uncomfortable. He now sat cross-legged on the edge of the bathtub, facing front, and now she had to literally STAND in the tub to scrub his head.

"Hmm, I think my fingers accidentally wandered down there. Sorry, sensei," Luna replied apologetically. Her fingers were itching to go down there again…

She cleared her throat, and rubbed more of the tonic in her hands.

"Do you think all the lice in my head has vaporized now?"

"Maybe. Sorry, you know, for keeping you from your work."

"Keeping me away from work is considerably preferable over having apprehensive assistants, Kanagashi-san," He stretched. "Well, I don't feel itchy anymore."

"Hold up. I'm not really done yet." She lathered more of the tonic, silently praying it wouldn't have any side effects on his hair.

"Alright then." He ran a thumb over his lips thoughtfully. A question had been brewing in his mind for quite some time now, and if he didn't get it off his chest now, it'd only make him more restless around his new assistant. Perhaps not really new, since she's been here for… he counted his fingers slowly, his head thrust upward at the ceiling subconsciously, looking at invisible numbers. Six days now. If he counted today, it would be seven. Did that number account for an extensive, familiar relationship with her now? No, not exactly. He wondered if the question he'd ask would intrude on Luna's own personal grounds, and lead to a veeeerryyyy awkward situation between them. He didn't want that! Especially if he had to give up on the way she massaged his scalp right now…

Nizuma Eiji was still the straightforward, no cutting-corners Nizuma Eiji, however.

"Luna…" She had a very sensible name with two syllables. "What attracts you in Mashiro sensei?"

He could feel her fingers stiffen in his hair. A sharp intake of air behind him. He hoped it wasn't a very difficult question; he just wanted a short description, that's all. He stared at the bathroom sink out, employing a daydreaming trance. He waited patiently for her answer. The bathroom sink was clean as a whistle, since he had used his own toothbrush to get rid of the dirt. Of course, he'd thrown the toothbrush away. The cleaning habit had been drummed into him ever since Yujirou set foot into the bathroom. Nizuma hated his constant nags and overreactions at the supreme dirt assembling in hidden corners of the bathroom, that he'd taken to himself to clean the stains off with his toothbrush. Now the bristles of his toothbrush were springing loose and open, like an overused broomstick.

He heard Luna clearing her throat to speak.

"Well… Mashiro sensei is very charismatic, and good looking…" She faltered at the last word.

Well, he was getting frustrated with the pattern of how girls think. Do they all seek good looks? He thought the majority of them were shallow because of this, and he had hoped his first female assistant would be different from them, seeing as she draws manga and all. Well, Aoki sensei drew manga too, and he knew for a fact that SHE was older than him, and certifiably NOT shallow. He knew Aoki sensei secretly harbored an affection for Takagi sensei, and Takagi sensei was MORE than good looks and charisma; that he can wager.

One thing proven: Nizuma Eiji was no clueless fool. He was a genius at making connections when noticing the obvious.

Though he was really dense when problems revolved around him…

"But I don't really fancy him anymore." Luna added brightly, her fingers suddenly entangled in his thick nest of hair.

"Hey! What's wrong with Mashiro sensei? He's good enough for you, and I bet you two would look good together!" Nizuma declared hotly. He decided that he simply couldn't understand concepts of complicated people, namely, teenage girls. Mashiro sensei, as far as he knew, was not ugly, and nor was he very rude or a very dirty person. So what was it with girls who just can't be satisfied?

Luna, behind him, was stunned into silence. Her mind was swirling around uncontrollably, and she debated whether or not should she just confess straight up.

Before she could stop herself, she started speaking.

"I actually-" Fate purposely intervened in their beginning signs of awkward conversation by magically making the genius mangaka's cell phone ring with obscene zombie cries, distracting her.

Nizuma sensei, with surprising balance and agility, immediately stood up, perching on the edge of the bathtub. Frothy and white bubbles pelted Luna's face yet again. She rubbed them away, feeling a dull sting at the back of her eyes as she blinked in confusion. She hadn't noticed she hadn't been blinking ever since she started rubbing his head… it seemed as if she had been caught up with every detail in his head, concentrating solely on the lice, and moving when he moved, trying to follow him, that her eyes refused to even close a millimeter.

"Sorry, Luna, but I have to receive this call," Nizuma announced with clarity. He went to the door, his head still a wet and white mass, and darted outside. A big splat landed on the door, and it oozed down with a slimy sound.

"Sure…" The door swung there, creaking. The splat of white continued oozing, seemingly oblivious to everything.

At that moment, with her fingertips aching and damped, she had never felt so alone and isolated.

…

"WHAT?! THE SERIES WILL BE ON HIATUS UNTIL NEXT SPRING?!" Nizuma cried in dismay. His eyes bulged outwards, classic anime style.

The shout of distress made his assistant wince. The speed tracks, which were as straight as they could possibly be before they reached the borderline, plunged down and made a wriggly and shaky V shape. With a tired sigh, she rubbed the whole thing off again and started all over. This was the fifth time, and if it has any other mistakes, the paper will be worn through.

"Sensei," She protested. "Please sit down and finish your Crow drafts. There's only three more hours left, and if you don't finish them by then, I will be forced to resume my work tomorrow, and I hate procrastination. I promised myself I would finish two chapters today…" The concerned expression on his face made her stop. For once, his eyes were not shining, and his face actually looked paler than before. He slouched as he sat, and wrinkle lines seemed to appear as his forehead was creased, his nose was scrunched and his mouth was in an upside-down smile.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

He didn't seem to hear her. All his concentration was spent on the electronic device beside his ear. A burst static came from the other line, but his face remained unchanged. She stopped herself from requesting him to put the phone on speaker mode like last time, but she daren't. This time appeared to be a very crucial moment for him, and the last thing he needed was her bossy and superior attitude bothering him. She blanched, fighting the urge to pinch and slap herself.

Nizuma sensei nodded, some more lines inserted between the limited space of his thin eyebrows, and finally hung up with a weary sigh. The girl kept her eyes downcast. The air was charged, and it got heavier and heavier. Nobody was speaking.

"...Mashiro-sensei, as you would probably know… is hospitalized," Nizuma said slowly, staring at a Crow figurine on his desk. The bright blue rays of the sunlight shone into the room and highlighted his profile, making his eyelashes and brows glimmer slightly. His hair was burnished chestnut under the rays. Golden specks of dust motes whirred around him as he made a movement to bang his head against the desk.

"…and…" He looked up, his forehead red and swelling slightly. His eyes were glazed and befuddled, only that he wasn't under the influence of alcohol. "Detective Trap seems to be in hiatus until FURTHER NOTICE!" The 'further notice' ended on a hard, tensed note.

Luna's stomach dropped low. She felt a rush of anxiety as she inquired, "Is Mashiro really that sick? He can't even raise a pen to draw manga?" Her voice sounded strangely wispy and faraway, like it echoed from a thousand miles away. She wasn't blinking again.

With that, Nizuma Eiji's body twitched convulsively, and his head dropped onto his lap.

"No. He was well enough, and even objected against the decision, but editor-in-chief Sasaki-san shut him down!" Even though his voice was squished and flat, he sounded irritated enough.

A series of rapid and impatient knocks at the door didn't make him look up. Luna stood up, her legs feeling like lead, and opened it. The door felt heavy under her hands. She jerked back from it when it was forcibly pushed from the outside.

A young and tall young man dressed all in white stared back at her in disbelief and impatience. He had his hands thrust deep into his jeans pockets, and the cross necklace he wore should mean he was a Christian. He had small but fierce eyes, and his also-white hair cascaded past his shoulders, spiking at the ends. When he spoke, a deep voice reverberated from his veined throat, and his Adam's apple moved a little.

"Is Nizuma sensei here?" He pushed her roughly aside, and stepped into the apartment unit like he owned it. Who was he? Luna thought in bewilderment. Multiple rings glinted as he ran his hand across the white walls carelessly while he walked deeper into the unit.

"Fukuda-san!" Nizuma sensei sounded delighted, Luna took note drily. This proud man cannot be-

Her mouth dropped open in shock.

Fukuda Shinta? Kiyoshi Knight's writer?

Darn, she sure was lucky today.

* * *

**A/N: New (not quite, but still) character, yes!**


	7. Hurt on Mutual sides

Disclaimer: DITTO

* * *

Luna was positively rendered speechless at the amount of white Fukuda was in. Everything, excluding his face and eye color, was white. Heck, even the gothic-looking watch he wore was white. His skin was a sallow yellow color, so white kind of looked good on him, if she did say so for herself. His white hair made him look like a delinquent, or the leader of a motorbike gang. His sharp, brown eyes, which differed from Nizuma's kinder ones greatly, raked over her in one smooth movement, and he turned to Nizuma, his face, unseen by Luna, a question mark.

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder without even acknowledging her. "Who is she?" His tone, or what Luna imagined, seemed to have an accusing note. The accusation was as sharp as his nose, Luna thought privately.

Nizuma stood up and hastily made introductions.

"Luna, meet Fukuda sensei, leader of Team Fukuda," Guess the 'leader' part was right. "And Fukuda sensei, Luna's my new assistant."

If he held his hand out, I would shake it, Luna thought. If he didn't, forget it. Unlike Mashiro or Nizuma sensei, Fukuda's hands were clean.

Fukuda looked at her over his shoulder, those beady orbs sizing her up. Was it her, or did he look disapproving for a moment?

"She's not as pretty as Aoki." He finally stated, digging his hands further deeper into his trench-deep pockets. The skull rings on his belt jiggled with the movement.

Luna bit back a retort as Nizuma, sensing the charged electricity in the air like an ant anticipating a morning rain, made amends to both sides.

"Fukuda sensei, Luna is not Aoki sensei, who is a mature woman that knows how to use what girls call 'makeup'. Please refrain from comparing the two of them. And Luna is not ugly in the least, either."

She cracked a pained smile when the Eternal Child looked to her for confirmation. She knew she wasn't 'ugly', but she wasn't so much as pretty as she was ugly. Plain and not special. Like a rusty Christmas ornament compared to the bright and brilliant star on top. She brought out the 'beautiful' side of people when she was plain, because it just made her less noticeable.

Fukuda waved a submissive hand at them, looking annoyed. "Whatever. Have you heard of Ashirogi's Detective Trap? On hiatus?"

Nizuma's face darkened at the subject. "Yes. I can't believe Sasaki-san would go that far," He balanced a pencil on his nose, and placed both fists on his hips, his legs open in a wide battle stance. His trousers tautened around his legs, emphasizing his skinny thighs and scrawny calves. "I wonder what Ashirogi sensei did wrong to deserve that treatment." He huffed.

"I know, right?" Fukuda, not bothering to get a chair, sat himself down on the wooden floor cross-legged. His eyes glittered as he continued, "But I have an idea that will kill off the editor's buzz for sure." He interlocked his fingers together, clenching and unclenching.

He let the bait sit for a couple of seconds, letting the curiosity and excitement grow. Clench. Let go. Clench.

"I am planning to boycott by putting Kiyoshi Knight on hiatus, and until Detective Trap is back on track again, I will not give in!" He announced with vigor. Luna trembled slightly as those unnerving brown pupils rested on Nizuma sensei hungrily.

"But…" He continued. "It won't have much of an impact if I do it alone…" His voice trailed off, leaving a suggestive blank for a specific someone to fill in.

Oh no, the new assistant thought, her heart lurching with dread. Sensei had better not…

"I see," Nizuma nodded in understanding.

In a smooth movement, he braced one foot on the edge of his desk, and one on his rickety chair. He shook his fists at the air, like he was pounding on a punching bag. "IF DETECTIVE TRAP IS ON HIATUS, THEN SO WILL CROOOOWW!" His white teeth shone as he grinned.

Fukuda was trying his hardest not to laugh at the Master's gullible and easily-manipulated personality, and his body was trembling non-stop, until…

"Fukuda," Her mind barely registered the fact that she had missed an honorific. This simply was no time for manners or etiquette. "If you want to put your own manga on hiatus, be my guest. But YOU, of all people who admire and praise Nizuma Eiji, can't pull this genius," She gestured towards her sensei. Her eyes were burning, and the two guys were giving her full and undivided attention. Nizuma was secretly marveling at the magnificence of her 'burning' eyes, wondering if his favored Mashiro sensei's would scorch like hers; while Fukuda had his eyebrows down in a trench-deep V shape between his forehead, thinking how the hell this girl would have the right to stick her fingers into their own plans.

"You," She stopped a bit to prepare herself. "simply can't pull this genius down into the muddy and messy conclusion of the cancel of a series. See here, Crow is a massive hit in my school and probably everywhere in Japan. If that manga goes on hiatus for God-knows-how-long, the popularity is sure to plummet, and I can't stand here and just watch! Nizuma sensei-"

"Shut up."

It wasn't Fukuda who spoke (though he would have gladly done so, given the ominous glint in his eyes were not very inviting).

"L-" The Eternal Child (well, not really looking like one in this case) hesitated for a split second. "Kanagashi-san, you have no right to be meddling with other people's businesses. You also have no control over what I do with Crow, as that is MY manga that I created. Crow's popularity, I assure you, will not go down. I will see to it myself." He pounded his heart, looking solemn but stern. Luna didn't notice the way his eyes lingered longer than a minute on her, his gaze almost guilty and full of regret, before turning to Fukuda.

"…So please work on YOUR own serialization before you start lecturing anyone else." Nizuma added, sounding unconvinced but forceful. He had his back towards her. Fukuda had closed his eyes to ward off an incoming headache of dealing with a stubborn female, but his ears were perked up for every single sound.

The fire and determination from her eyes dwindled, slowly dwindling into nothingness, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and shame. If that were possible, her hair would've fizzed up and stood on end. The corners of her lips shook a little, but she stubbornly bit down on it. She was not going to cry, but the foreign sensation at the back of her eyes was undeniably hard to control. She sucked in deep breaths as if her life depended on it. That did little to calm the turmoil in the pits of her stomach. It was like a million bees were buzzing in there, fighting to get out.

She glanced at her phone, her sight beginning to blur at the edges. She had to get out of here quickly.

She cleared her throat, testing her ability to speak coherently. "I see." She was loath to find that her normal confident tone came out in a half whisper, half choke. Her fingers pinched the skin of her neck, and it hurt. The red finger marks would be difficult to get rid of later… "I understand. I will work hard. See you tomorrow." A weak smile wobbled, and she grabbed her bag.

The night was chilly, and she hugged her windbreaker closer, finding nothing but another cold and alien layer lying over her skin, which was exploding with goose bumps. A few water droplets escaped her eyelids, but they were blinked away. As she huffed, white clouds of water vapor lasted in the air for a fleeting second, before dissipating and disappearing completely. Without a trace.

She thought she had been one step in figuring this enigma out. She thought she had known him, when she has no inkling of what was going on in that marvelous brain of his. He was always out of her reach, and it seemed that it would remain that way for a certain time… Now he'd pushed her away. Of course. He didn't need her for anything. Heck, he probably thought she was a nuisance; a barrier standing between him and his goals.

Should she quit? She didn't want to cause trouble for anybody.

Every single rational thought in her head were temporarily chased out by the overwhelming pressure of doubts and confusion. Now she started thinking about pessimistic things, like maybe her dream as a break-through manga artist was just an illusion. Or maybe her mother abandoned her because SHE was also a nuisance. Or Nizuma sensei secretly harbored dislike and contempt for her. Everything, from various, heartbreaking turning points of her life came rushing at her in full speed, and they collided together, nestling her mind for a certain visitor called, 'Headache'. Hurt, disbelief, sadness… she couldn't tell the difference between them.

Her pillow was her best friend of the day, Luna decided in a spontaneous moment of possible insanity and sarcastic humor.

…

"You know she likes you, right?" Fukuda said lazily, scratching the nape of his neck. Fukuda Shinta, as a rule, though brash and hot-headed in his own unique way, had always been a very observant person, even if his loyal assistants or the members of Team Fukuda didn't know that yet. The girl was crushed, he could tell, from her voice and her bent figure. How weak. Just a bit of advice, albeit a harsh one, and she's already on her heels, escaping.

Nizuma didn't hear him. But he was jerked back into reality when Fukuda nudged his foot impatiently.

"Huh? What did you say?" His pupils looked dilated. This kid has it bad, too, Fukuda thought in sardonic amusement. He decided to let go of the matter entirely. After all, manga was more important than unrequited love, on his part. Unrequited? No. Both of them are just too dense and innocent to realize anything. As far as he was concerned, the feeling was mutual. Young love… (He wasn't aware that he was only in his early twenties.)

"Nothing." He stretched, relieving the tautness in his limbs. "Have you visited them yet?"

"Who?" Nizuma resumed his usual posture, though somewhat lacking in confidence and enthusiasm.

"Ashirogi sensei, of course."

"No… I'm sorry, Fukuda sensei. I'm tired. Do you think we can continue this topic on a different day?"

They both knew it was a lie. Even Nizuma cringed from his weak excuse. Fukuda looked nettled, but he didn't let that get to him, instead nodding sagely, saying, "Sure. Tell me whenever you want company to visit Ashirogi sensei." He understood and sympathized, this white-haired guy. The last time the door swung shut, Nizuma took his pencil out and made speech bubbles, unnamed characters and countless, uncontrollable sound effects as he drew his feelings out. Anything that was in his head, he drew that out. Every exact detail was intricately drawn out, the medium being his blunting pencil. He was going on a ferocious pace. At the interval of every 3 minutes, he would fling them over his shoulder, and that piece of paper landed on a random place. It didn't matter if he can find them later; he just wanted to RELEASE. Frustration was a frequent visitor nowadays. Now it refused to leave.

Luna's face was constantly in his mind. He drew a stand-alone picture of her, and the likeness was close to 90%. The art and work of a genius. For that one minute, he sat and stared, letting her face being branded into his brain for eternity. From the narrow space between her eyebrows, to the bridge of her nose. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a breeze seemed to be blowing the soft strands, framing her oval face and curling around her chin. Her full lips were in a wide smile, though to him, the most impressing feature of all were her eyes. Of course it was her eyes. But his drawing was imperfect; her eyes burned far more than this. The shine and toning in her pupils looked wrong. Ugh.

When the pencil couldn't be used anymore, he threw that away too.

It looked like he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, either.

* * *

**A/N: I really promise there will be more action next chapter. I know it seems like the plot is stagnant, (so are the chapters. Yeeeeee…) but there will be the hospital visit and Luna's possible serialization next up… **


	8. Agreements and Hospital Visits

Disclaimer: I do not own Bakuman, as much as I would have loved to.

A/N: Omitted chapter. Not much difference, but a little.

* * *

He looked half-dead, with his dirty face and soulless eyes as he surveyed himself in the gleaming mirror. Like a zombie. Oh. That seemed like an amusing metaphor. Ideas filled his head almost immediately with that single word, 'Zombie'. He felt for a pen and a Post-It note, madly scribbling ideas for his manga while desperately cramming his messy handwriting into that small, square-shaped paper.

"Good job, Hiramaru. This time, you'll get more votes for sure." The annoying pecking of his cunning editor was getting more and more frequent these days. At least someone around here was happy.

"Yoshida-shi… can I take a break?" A useless plea, but it never hurt to try.

"No. Unless you want to give up on Aoki." The same monotone. It was really getting into his mind when he most sought for peace.

Aoki was his love for all eternity. Of course he wasn't about to give her up.

"Alright then…" He mumbled, doodling on the Post-It note listlessly. He wondered why Fate was so unfair to himself; giving a break to the most hardworking people he'd ever known, and turning its back against him when he wanted to recover traces of blood in his urine. Now those people, with one of them hospitalized, can skip work… REST for at least another six months. How dreadfully unfair. His eyes, he saw from the mirror, seemed to sink in deeper into their sockets.

His black phone rang.

Fukuda sensei? He thought before pressing on the green button.

…

A regal young lady near her mid-twenties sipped a cup of Darjeeling tea calmly, her eyes resting atop her white phone.

Just minutes ago, before…

_Her phone rang with a sweet melody composed of a piano duet. Looking at the caller's name flashing on her screen, she momentarily paused her hand, and flipped the cover over. She knew that if she spoke with this person, she would need her utmost concentration to keep up with his varied, or rather, sloppy way of talking quickly. At any rate, this person didn't talk over the phone much with her… _

"_Oi, is Aoki there?" His baritone, if spoken softly and slowly, may have had a chance to score a woman's heart, the young woman thought in annoyance. _

"_Hello." Her calm, unruffled tone contrasted sharply with his. She was not surprised. _

"_Fukuda here. You know that Ashirogi, no, Mashiro is in the hospital, right?" Of course she knew. Her editor told her three days ago. He blabbered on and on about a kidney surgery, but she'd been too immersed in her work to ponder over what he said. So what if it was a kidney surgery? Her mother had one before, and she turned out fine. _

"_And?" She prompted, now getting impatient. She tapped her ball point pen against her desk restlessly. _

"_Did your editor also told you about their series going on hiatus?" _

_That was a shocker. No, her editor did not. _

_She affirmed negative, and heard a long sigh on the other line. She waited for his reply. _

"_Are you free now?" _

"_Yes, I am." That was a strange question, coming from Fukuda. _

"_Then let's meet up with Hiramaru and Nizuma at the coffeehouse near Shueisha. I've told them of my idea, and it'd be better if you heard it in person." _

"_Alright." _

_She would never outright admit that this idea of his sounded intriguing. Long after he'd hung up, she'd just sat there, Darjeeling tea cup in her hand, and dreamt on about that idea of his. If it was exciting, and MADE SENSE, she reminded herself sternly, she'd go with it. _

Well, that indeed was a perplexing phone conversation. Nevertheless, it was time for her to get going. She drained her Darjeeling tea in the basin, feeling a pang of regret. As always, Darjeeling was incredibly expensive in Japan.

…

This is a bad idea…

This is a bad idea…

The hospital reeked of aspirins and medicine, the unholy combination morphing into something like Death. An involuntary shiver wrought her shoulders as she stepped past the automatic sliding doors, the air-conditioned chilly air welcoming her with goose bumps on her skin. The bouquet she was holding, the roses in them, seemed to droop a little. Even flowers can't stand hospitals, she thought, giving it a good shake. A stray dark red petal dropped. She felt weariness in her bones, and wondered if this was how old people felt when they went for regular body check-ups. Humph. She hadn't even went passed the 20-year mark yet.

This is a bad idea…

Nurses clad in white and doctors in ironed-out lab coats passed the reception area. Some of them wheeled patients on wheelchairs; while others were in a hurry, dashing around and disappearing into doors with black numbers, only to step out a minute later.

Luna made her way carefully to the receptionist. She looked from left to right for signs of red-eyed patients or murderous family members, and patted the table to get the receptionist's attention.

This is a bad idea…

The receptionist was talking on the phone, one manicured finger twirling around the phone cord. She had a smile on her glossed lips, and the heavily made up eyelashes fluttered when she noticed a young visitor holding a bouquet of red roses standing before her, looking grim and displeased. She mouthed something into the phone, and replaced it back onto the phone cradle.

Hands clasped. Eyes focused into a straight line. She was in businesslike mode now.

The visitor lifted the corners of her mouth half-heartedly. The smile didn't reach her eyes, of course. A receptionist who had the decency to make small talk in a somber building like this; she didn't garner or deserve Luna's respect.

"I'm here to visit a Mashiro Moritaka, who came in, like… a few days ago?" The girl self-consciously gripped the bouquet tighter.

The receptionist scrolled upwards on her computer, biting her lips in concentration. The clicks she made on her mouse made Luna edgy. Maybe it was due to the negative aura surrounding this hospital…

"Yes, there is a person with that name… Room 451. Visiting hours are only till eight at night. You know where to go?" The receptionist said briskly, looking up to Luna in concern. However, she felt mighty comfortable in her velvet office chair right now, and was loath to stand up and give the visitor a tour around the hospital. And if she left her post unguarded, who knows whether her files would be stolen.

To her relief, the stoic girl nodded, and headed to the elevators.

This is a bad idea…

As the heavy metal doors slid open with a slight squeak, a group of nurses and doctors quickly wheeled a patient lying on a sick bed out of the elevator, nearly colliding with her. She dodged to the side in the last minute, and a rush of metallic smell enveloped her. It smelled like… blood.

She laid her palms flat against her abdomen, as if the protective crouch mode had any use in calming the tight, indignant knotting of her organs. She had a sense of déjà vu, and that meant her inner turmoil was growing even more hazardous. As she set foot into the compacted space, where the remnants of smell still hung in the air, was it her imagination, or did the elevator just trembled under her feet?

This is a bad idea…

At the fourth floor, she thankfully walked out of the elevator, her hands aching from their tight grasp on the bouquet. Room 451 took a decently short time to be found, and she peeked in through the window before stepping inside. After all, her visit was entirely spontaneous; she didn't notify them or her sensei. She didn't want to give them an unpleasant surprise, but now that she was here, she'd better fulfill her objective.

The echoes of "this is a bad idea" died away…

A young man in raven-blue hair with eyes of the identical shade was on the sick bed, wearing a sick garb. He looked pale and thin, expression morose and gloomy. Mashiro Moritaka stared at the white-washed wall in a state of stillness and despair that patients usually employ during their long periods spent at the hospital. On the bedside table lay a box of Copic markers, about two hundred or more. There was also a complete ensemble of dip pens, all polished and shining under the fluorescent lights. However, the manga artist did not move to touch or look at them. Luna wondered why.

Before she opened the door, she did a once-over with her jumbled thoughts. He'd hurt her theoretically, he'd rejected her… So why did she have to go through this hassle to visit him? Seeing him was just hurting herself, and she was no masochist. It was all thanks to her blind impulse to come here and take a chance at the impossible.

She glanced at him again. He was alone. His girlfriend wasn't around… yet.

She brought her hand to the bar, and pushed. It was now or never; she will not run away. Even though her legs felt like jelly and she would probably fall to her butt if she so much as talked to him. The roses provided a 'disguise' for her, at least for that few seconds.

Well, what was she supposed to do now, with the roses? Throw them and hope they land ceremoniously on the bed? Or just make a drama by stepping on it with her feet?

"You…" The tenor voice had a raspy tinge, and that, if little, cajoled her out of her tight bundle of nerves. He was sick, he was in bed. What could he do, except throwing a pillow at her? He couldn't cause any body harm to her in his fragile condition. By fragile, she wasn't sure in what scope, but she knew he had been ordered to stay on the bed, and stay there he must. She'll just ring the nurse in if he attempts otherwise.

She inhaled. "Kanagashi Luna, your classmate, just in case you've forgotten. I'm here," She shook the roses a little. "To ask you something. About one of your friends. Nizuma Eiji."

He smiled bitterly. "Not even to inquire about my health?"

She shrugged. "Well, that too, since you're a good friend of mine," She put more emphasis on the 'good friend', and left him brooding to figure out what it meant.

The artist nodded slowly. He smirked, which wasn't the reaction Luna expected. "And if you came to ask me about Nizuma, that means you are connected to him in some intimate way. Right? Are you…" He paused, his gaze sharpening. "His assistant or girlfriend or anything?"

Well, she had to hand it to him; he is a good guesser. Yes, she was his assistant. And the last two suggestions were not completely off either; their relationship seemed to be strained strenuously between 'girlfriend' and 'anything'. What was 'anything', anyway? It landed on her ears with a wispy sigh, something she'd rather not think about. It's so distinct, that every single time her mind wandered into the forbidden property, she'd forget what she'd been thinking about in the first place. It's really that complicated and frustrating. She'd sooner pass the baton to Nizuma for figuring their real relationship out.

What does washing the hair of your boss mean? Friends with benefits?

Oh. Ew.

"You're right about the first thing. I'm his assistant." Luna allowed briefly.

His expression softened a little. "Do you draw manga, then?" He asked with frank interest, their tension abruptly poofed into oblivion.

"Yes."

"Oh, really?"

"Let's get straight to the point. I have about thirty minutes left to loiter around." She pointed at her watch impatiently.

"Go on." He splayed his hands out expectantly. "I am completely at your mercy… at least until one of those nurses come in and remind me about my surgery," He added darkly.

"Ha. Okay. So… is Nizuma sensei always irrevocably brilliant when it comes to manga? Does Crow really get the highest votes?"

His eyebrows traversed further upwards to his forehead. That sounded like a rhetorical question.

"Well… he is considered a genius, after all," Mashiro shrugged nonchalantly. "And no, Crow does not get the highest votes, seeing as One Piece, Bleach and Naruto are still running in the same magazine." He shook his head in disbelief, looking incredulous at his peer's eminent success. "I myself can't believe he could be on par with the pros, when he just made his come-out, like… three years ago?"

The girl collapsed on a chair, feeling as if all the energy from her body was drained away. So Nizuma Eiji really is that unbelievable, she thought, feeling relieved, and yet the shiver in the tips of her toes commenced, reminding her of the second objective she had come to achieve. The stack of paper in her bag was weighing down her shoulders, so she left it on the floor with a dull 'thunk'.

"What's in your bag?" Her classmate inquired curiously.

She cleared her throat, "My manga. I need people to comment on it," She froze mentally as his laser-like gaze rested upon her humble bag, which looked tattered and dirty due to the closet neglect for three months. She discreetly swiped her finger across the back. Ew. I'll need to throw it into the washer when Aunt Haru's not looking…

"But I know you're sick, so why not we talk about this on a later date, hm?" Her eyes crinkled with the false smile on her face. She wondered how people can afford to lie and bluff, when she couldn't even put a convincing smile on her face.

"Can I read it?" He asked politely.

Her heart sank. She wanted to humor him badly, but… Oh well, it couldn't hurt, could it?

It registered in some part of her brain that her hand was trembling. The artist didn't seem to notice, because his eyes were glued to the title page. He smiled a little as he flipped to the next one.

The only reaction she can get was from his expressions. That was another interesting trait of his. He laughed at a funny part, which Luna didn't know what part, but her heart warmed at the fact that someone found her manga to be entertaining. Incredulity, shock, confusion and a thousand other adjectives danced on his oval face. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope, and she remembered the one time she looked through it when she was a child, and the bright colors, the overall clarity of different shapes blending in together startled her into oblivion. Red and orangey flames became one with cooler colors such as blue and purple. A phoenix seemed to soar high over the bluish white clouds. At night, a pink monkey pranced over a tall, reedy tree trunk, looking for bananas… She recalled her aunt's voice did not rouse her from her delightful daydream in the instrument for a long time. The same exhilarated feeling coursed through her as she surveyed his countenance.

Finally, he rolled his shoulders a little, signaling that he was done.

And now, for the critique…

"Can I let my editor see this?" He asked right out of the blue.

Stars were swirling around her head, shouting out the repeating word… she felt so dizzy. _Serialization, serialization, serialization…_

"Is it… good?" She forced out, half-afraid of his answer.

He bit on his lip. "It's not good at all." He replied point blank.

That was enlightening. But he wasn't done yet.

"…but it's not bad either. I think Mr. Hattori would like to see this very much. He knows what skill is, for sure…"

Then what were those expressions she saw just now? All just an illusion? She had skill, not talent?

"But I think you have some chance in getting approval from him. He appreciates talent, you should know. I don't know what this is," He nodded towards the stack in his hands. "but I like the fast-paced dialogue and exciting plot." His pupils rolled upwards. "I think you'd be better off being a novelist, though."

Was that a compliment, or a thinly concealed suggestion that she should give up on manga?

Mashiro reached for a mobile phone lying passively on the table.

"I'll tell him myself," He waited for the line to get through. "Are you staying here? I think thirty minutes is already over."

Oh, shoot.


	9. Shueisha and the outrageous getup

Disclaimer: Ditto

* * *

Just when she returned to Room 451 after a washroom break, the hair-raising, hell-freezing and mind-abusing madness began so suddenly that she practically passed the day in a mental Hurricane Allen.

Mashiro had disappeared, but he'd left a torn note, his writing almost ineligible. You'd think he'd have an elegant script, with him being an artist, but this was not the case.

_Luna,_

_This Wednesday, 3 p.m. Meet Mr Hattori at the Shueisha office building. 4__th__ floor.  
Tel: XXX-XXXX-XXXX (Mr Hattori's)  
Email: -_

_Btw, I think you're in for a real treat. Thank me after. _

_Mashiro Moritaka _

She poured herself over the note, torn with agitation and reluctant gratitude. Her manga finally had the likelihood of being serialized – as slim as that would be – but she detested owing a favor to someone she was on unmet terms with. She also saw the idea of Mars-In-Progress, as tacky the content and title was, being serialized in the same Shonen magazine as Detective Trap, Crow, Kiyoshi Knight, to name a few, quite… distressing. It was going to be a tough ride if she were to be compared with those amazing manga. You never know, when you're strolling around, and you pick up an earful of insults of your own manga characters from some people. That would be a big toll on her confidence and esteem, indeed.

But, Luna calmed herself, her manga wasn't serialized yet, so what's the big deal of fussing over small details like these?

Before departing, she acquired a sturdy plastic vase from a nurse, and arranged the roses nicely. Those flowers finally added a stroke of liveliness in the moody atmosphere they call the patient's relaxation space.

Luna wouldn't think she had attained her goal in visiting her classmate, but the fact that she landed herself an exceptional chance to officially publish her work was very compatible and most gratifying.

…

Things were easily said (thought) than done. The few days, no matter how hard she prayed, flew over in a blink of an eye. Wednesday was gaining on her.

Then school was out. The next two hours spent venting her quintupled nerves on poor Aunt Haru, who was none the more supportive than Luna had ever seen her. The woman countered her uncalled-for insults with comforting words of kindness and vigilance, and Luna felt little regret and shame in her turbulent state of mind. Nevertheless, the aunt was sympathetic and exhibited a rare side of patience in the two hours, and almost pitied her niece.

At two thirty, Luna set off. Her destination required twenty minutes of train riding, with the danger of dozing off and missing her stop, plus a bus ride composed of two five-minute-apart stops. That took thirty minutes exactly, and she finally reached the fourth floor, breathless and red in the face, her bag strap close to slipping off her sloping shoulders. Her watch read 3:01 p.m., and she hoped that being beaten by one minute in time would not blemish her first impression to Mr Hattori. She had yet to know what he looked like, so the thought of distinguishing him amongst other Jump workers send a fresh tidal wave of panic over her. The only thing she knew about him was the similarity in his and Yujirou's surnames.

She followed the gold diamond-patterned carpet that seemed to stretch on forever, and poked her head into the first cubicle, which was surrounded by four panels of screens except for a long rectangle cut out for the in-and-out entrance, seeing a lone man sitting on one of two plastic chairs, his small eyes directed towards his lap, and when she craned her neck further, his iPhone, on his lap. A tall, thin man with sideburns and a buzz cut, wearing a striped sweater in spite of the blazing weather, engaged in a heated battle with the green pigs that was the sinister and antagonistic trademark of Angry Birds.

The man looked up, and paused his game, pocketing his phone as he contemplated the girl standing awkwardly at the corner of the cubicle. He had very thick lips and a big nose, Luna saw more clearly now. His wide-eyed gaze looked creepy. A nagging question persisted in her mind: Was he Hattori Akira, the editor who brought fame to the Ashirogi pair?

"I'm assuming you're the girl who visited Mashiro yesterday?" He went straight to the point, no dallying questions like how-are-you-today, or aimless remarks like the-weather-looks-fine.

"Yes." She bowed meekly. Her bag was hindering her movements, so she sat down, relieving her shoulders of their ache.

"Alright then, Luna. Let's not waste time here. Can I take a look at your manuscript?" He stared at her levelly, as if he was weighting the importance of Mashiro's opinion and the unattractive title page of her manga he was receiving with his hands right this moment.

Hattori was a fast reader, even quicker than Nizuma sensei. Luna had to force herself into submission and silence as she appraised his every facial movement when he slid each finished page to the back every 2 minutes. Her neck was itching, but she wasn't about to move to scratch it, and risk shouting out a random word like "FEET!" and totally embarrass herself. Invisible ants seemed to crawl over her perspiring skin, and she could feel the underside of her shirt growing damp. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, blood travelling upwards to gather at her cheeks.

The ruffle of papers brought her back to planet Earth again, and the editor made that infuriating smacking sound on the table as he tidied the pages together.

"Let me read it one more time." He said, giving her a fleeting glance, and immersed himself in the manga once more.

The ordeal repeated itself, and mercifully, he was done in approximately five minutes this time. The papers were gently placed on the table, and the editor propped his arms over the stack, his gaze still bafflingly straight and unchanging. He bided his own sweet time as he bit his lip and let the clock tick five times before talking.

"You know what? I think it'd be best if you ask Ashirogi what I said when I first read their piece." He rubbed his temple wearily. He had the look of a typical tired, overworked office worker. Maybe he'd read too much bad manga before and now he's just given up on giving people comments now, Luna thought, her heart lurching with dread. But no, she wasn't leaving here without advice on her manga. She'd spent so many months cultivating and smoothing out the plot, and she'd sooner drown herself if she left feeling deflated and disappointed.

"No, sir. Please tell me what you think right now." She replied without batting an eyelash.

He looked just the tiny bit surprised at her rebuff. "There are a lot of things you won't be happy to hear if I tell you right now." Hattori began slowly.

"Well, if I'd let that fact drag me down for these three days, then I wouldn't have been here in the first place. I know the road to serialize a manga isn't as easy as they say, and I've accepted that. I just want to know what I can do for my manga, what I can improve on it and make it better." She nearly shed tears of pride at her solid statement, and at the flash of approval in the editor's coal-black orbs.

"Alright." He settled his chin on his clasped hands, and closed his eyes. "Your characters…" He paused here, and after seeing that the girl opposite him did not falter, he continued, "Are too weak." He then pointed at the coffee machine situated at the side, which Luna hadn't noticed up until now. "Want some drink?"

"No, thank you." The last thing she wanted was to hold her bladder in.

"Okay. Well, the main character in here, Go, for starters, does not fit in with the hero impressions of Jump. Jump is a magazine for shonen, in other words, teenagers like you. A shonen manga should have a strong but happy ending," He emphasized the last word. "but yours just wraps up without a strong enough conclusion. A conclusion is linked to the main point, the focus, the core, of this story. I like the story, and it's interesting, but at the middle of the manga, it deviates from the main point. What is the main point, anyway?"

The unexpected question threw her off. "Err… I guess… The hero wants to abolish all racism and stereotypical thinking of the Martians, and make a peaceful coexisting environment between them and humans…" She rubbed her head, pink in the face. "I didn't really think about the main point when I made this manga." She added apologetically.

He nodded, like he had anticipated her answer. "That's understandable. But your manga runs off and instead centers on the relationship between the heroine and the protagonist. It doesn't show much of him interacting with the Martian leaders or government or whatever you call them. Shonen manga is not all about romance. You'd better keep that in mind when you make more manga in the future; or else you're better off being a shojo manga artist.

"I have no objections about the art, but you can read more books about architectural designs to help your backgrounds. The speech bubbles can be enlarged or minimized with Photoshop, so they're quite okay. And don't draw too much panels. It looks messy this way."

Luna had long took a notepad out and scribbled every word of Hattori's, scared that she wouldn't be able to memorize them all at once. Speech bubbles can be edited through Photoshop? That was new. She jotted that down without thinking.

"Would that be all for today?" She asked him primly, getting the weird feeling that she was a waiter at an all-night diner.

"Yup. Bring the edited version back to me after you're done. It's no hurry, especially when you're still in high school." He waved his hands in a hurry. "I understand if you don't have enough time."

"No, no, I'll bring these back in a few days." She kept the drafts into her bag, and stood up, feeling the happy balloon expanding in her chest. The meeting had not taken more than two hours. She'll have plenty of time to tweak the plot and details of her manga for tonight.

"Haha, don't make promises you won't probably keep. This is my card, and I think Mashiro's already given you my email address." He slid a white card towards her. She quickly thrust it deep into her pockets, for fear of losing it on the way home.

She gave a ninety degree angled bow, a very deep one, before skipping off. She hadn't skipped once since she turned nine. The balls of her feet were like springs; she felt light.

…

[after three days]

"AH-CHOOOOOOOOO!" The force of that sneeze made the small house shake. Aunt Haru almost cried out, "Earthquake!", before remembering that her niece was up with a cold today. She opened the window, and a frosty breeze blew in, upsetting a thermos jug, prompting her to shut it immediately.

"Why today, of all days?" Haru muttered, a small frown wrinkling her high forehead. It was work day for Luna, and the aunt was torn between responsibility to her niece's wishes, and the concern for the extremity of Luna's cold, which might make her niece too tired to even lift a pen properly.

Let the kid do what she wants, she chanted in her mind. That mantra worked, and she ascended the stairs with a big, motherly-compassionate smile on her face, ready to confront the niece and her germs. Luna was strong, she wouldn't let the germs overtake her.

On the contrary, the aunt, at first, thought the room was vacant. The windows were shut. The novels and manga volumes were tidy, for once. Then the woman apprehended the human-sized lump under the thick comforter. She walked to the bed, and pulled the comforter away with sudden force.

"Time to get up, sweetie," Her tongue tasted funny on the alien endearment that wasn't put to use on ordinary circumstances. "It's two fifteen already, and you need to take a bus to Nizuma sensei's studio." She chirruped brightly, sitting on the corner of the bed. Her niece's face was shrouded by a thick layer of black hair, uncombed and tangled up like a haystack. Haru ran a pale finger on Luna's calf, knowing that it was ticklish.

It did the trick.

"No, aunt Haru, stop." Luna moaned, squeezing her body into a smaller ball.

"It's time for work, Luna. I won't have you sleeping until three. You pledged yourself to this job, and you'd better stick to your decisions, however unconventional they are." Another one of her rare bouts of motherhood sprang up. It was getting more frequent lately… and manifested itself on notable occasions like this time.

"I'm sick… I have an excuse…"

"NO. My Luna does not shrink from any excuses. You're much better than that. Now get up, or I'll drag you down the stairs personally."

The niece knew the threat was real. It was either letting her ears suffer at her aunt's mercy, or be deafened by the silence and awkwardness at Nizuma sensei's apartment, even when the music is on full mode. She unwillingly propelled herself out of the bed, and stormed into the bathroom.

"Phew." Haru swiped a hand across her forehead.

Motherhood was… complicated.

In twenty minutes, the stairs creaked, and her niece ran to the kitchen.

"Do I look okay, Aunt Haru?" Haru wondered why Luna's voice sounded muffled, as if it was amplified through a thick screen. She looked up from her chopping board, and literally went through a heart attack.

"God! Luna! I thought it was a burglar! What's with that getup?!" Haru just about shrieked. Her knife was still in her hands, and in her anxiety, she waved it around the air, not caring if it would injure herself.

"Whoa, Aunt Haru, put that knife down. Wait, the knife. I'll explain, but just put that down, please. It's scaring me." Luna continued in her abnormally thick voice, taking a few steps backwards.

Haru took a deep breath, and settled the knife down on the chopping board, where half-diced onions scattered across the dented wood.

"I'm sorry, but Nizuma sensei may have a weak body, so I may accidentally pass the germs to him. And this outfit can keep the germs to myself. I don't want them to spread." The niece explained slowly, keeping her eyes on the knife at all times.

Right. She was wearing a blue mask, a thick scarf around her neck, a wool cap on her head and a thick jacket that would make her sweat buckets indoors. That outfit is going to give her sensei another heart attack, for sure. Haru didn't know what to think of that. But when she looked at the clock, she knew her niece was going to be late if they stood here and argued for another ten minutes. Let the kid do whatever she wants, Haru chanted once more.

Oh, even when the niece will probably be laughed at?

Too late. Luna was gone.

* * *

A/N: The Photoshop thing, I thought it out myself... it may not be right, though.


	10. Eh?

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bakuman.

A/N: Oh man… the anime's ENDED. I feel so… nostalgic, somehow. Well, here's to a hopefully better updated chapter! So this story continues in Nizuma's POV, since we just talked about Luna's meeting with Hattori last chapter. And yeah, since this site is FANFICTION, I get to tweak the plot a little. I meant that I'll arrange the events in my preferable order. The things that happened are the same, only the order's different. It doesn't make much difference, don't worry.

* * *

It rained.

Raining was so… unhappy.

Niizuma had sensed the ever-changing weather taking on a roiling, ominous black thundercloud today. He knew beforehand, that it WAS going to rain today. It was now three, right on dot. The landscape outside his window looked moody and grey, the color he loathed. Aomori was always green; it was cheery and familiar, with lush forests covering the mountains and blue bodies of water streaming near his house. Tokyo had subways, fast food chains, people talking in an obscure dialect, and unfriendly manga assistants, who, although eager to learn and cultivate their skills, treated their sensei like trash. Especially Mr Sato. It had always been grey. Though, for the sake of his parents, his manga, and himself, he tolerated the dullness of Japan's capital. The one true thing that brought real relief in his manga-filled schedule was his manga, and one other thing.

Speaking of which, that 'one other thing' had not arrived yet.

He wouldn't blame her if she didn't come today; the snapping that occurred the last time they met was not happily concluded, in the least. Or rather, HE snapped at HER. He could picture the sadness in her eyes, the whitening of her skin, and the tight clenching of her fists. She was frustrated, confused, sad, unhappy… the epitome of MOODY. He hated moody; so the regret that pulsated in his bloodstream, his brain, his very soul, was unexplainable. His mother said things in life were often unexplainable.

Niizuma sighed. He could only wait now. His mind started comforting him, in a ridiculous way: If she came into his studio before three-oh-five, he's going to be forgiven. If she didn't arrive before three fifteen, he'll assume that she had quitted. Yujiro will see to her wages, her remaining days of working and other troubling facts that he might have missed or not cared about, at all. If she wanted to quit willingly, he won't stop her. Who was he to do that, when HE made her quit?

Man. He has to calm down now. All this thinking was like a wall to his constantly-overflowing story ideas. His mind worked quirkily these days; before, he had only had to slowly delete the excess info from his mind that cluttered his muse, but now, he could sit for hours on his chair, his bottom getting sore, and literally FORCE his muse out of its shell.

Then another thought entered his mind: what if watching anime helped resolve this problem?

He got up and went to the DVD player, inserting a random One Piece disc. The TV coughed out a bunch of static, which made his hair fizz up, and the relaxing background music with seagulls and sea waves splashing against an invisible shore resounded in the apartment.

Like a robot with no control of its mechanical body, Niizuma reached for the remote control and simply pressed PLAY ALL recklessly. If he could sit on the chair for hours, he could damn well sit on the floor and watch the TV screen in the same amount of time. He was boss of this apartment; even if Luna came in, she's not supposed to comment on anything. He felt an out-of-character twinge of smugness; she COULDN'T say anything, because she can't afford to lose this job.

Oh. Luffy and the gang trying to save Brook's shadow. Even though it's exciting, Thriller Bark was still a place that ghosts liked to hang out in, and that made it a moody place.

…

Thank goodness it was raining: if not, her winter wear was for naught.

Luna didn't know much about bacteria spreading and all those biology statements, but she stubbornly stuck to her own paper logic that a thick amount of cloth would be able to stop the bacteria from spreading. Stupid, she knew, so she brought a mask. Annoyed by the way that people skirted around her and walked in huge circles just to avoid her, she'd taken it off at the next junction, where she hoped the weird glances would cease. Niizuma sensei wouldn't so much as look at her: he was too accustomed to weirdness and things that are out of the ordinary, since HE himself was a weird but fascinating object. Fascinating as in the way he drew manga, his odd accent, and even his unique ability to notice the obvious, which people often overlooked from time to time.

The rain encouraged the pedestrians to seek refuge inside air-conditioned malls, so the wet streets were mostly empty by now. Stray umbrellas were abandoned at the sidewalk, and a sheen of red and white caught her eye, and when she came nearer, she found out to be a bicycle. Tokyo people seemed to like to lie their things around, just for the heck of it; even though Luna herself was a Tokyo citizen.

The sepia apartment was slick with water and newly-grown ivy around the bricked walls. Even at a far vantage point, she could see that the ivy was snaking around the walls and poking at Niizuma sensei's grimy windows. Among all the other windows, her sensei's were the dirtiest. It was so filled with dust and dirt that she couldn't peer into his unit. Not that she wanted to.

The apartment's sliding doors opened automatically, and she shook her black umbrella, dodging from the water droplets. She was already here. Literally in his den. She could bet that maybe Niizuma sensei somehow sensed her presence within his lodge, and she wondered how he would react, under their otherwise stiff circumstances.

"I'm not a coward, and I will of course NOT walk slowly and reach the studio fifteen minutes late." She muttered to herself. The mantra had little progress in soothing her nerves, though. But remembering about Hattori and her meeting a few days ago helped replenish her courage again. She was THIS close to getting a serialization, and once she did, she could also follow in her sensei's footsteps, dropping out of high school, and spend her life doing what mattered most to her. Read and draw manga. A life to be reckoned with. With fans and FREE Shonen Jump magazines! She could also have the chance to meet Oda sensei, Kishimoto sensei, Kubo sensei, Mashima sensei…

She let the happy thoughts surged repeatedly, temporarily distracting her nerves. When she reached the door, she stopped.

Should she just get herself out of these thick clothing? Niizuma sensei's apartment was not exactly cold.

The door creaked open before she reached for the doorknob. Hasty footsteps grew fainter and more harried as she nudged the door open.

She got the feeling that he was running away from her.

…

Luna was here.

Luffy was in the middle of pounding the zombies-coming-out-of-the-grave part, when the screen froze. Niizuma didn't even touch the remote. That was a sign. Just after thinking that, his dip pen, for some reason, rolled off his flat desk and dropped with a clatter on the floor. Two signals. It had to be.

His sixth sense tingled with alert, and trusting his senses over logic – his senses usually won out – he leaped over to the door and released the latch. As he scrambled back to his seat, he suddenly paused.

Should he open it for her? What happened last time between them was mostly his fault, and the Eternal Child actually felt the idiotic need – to himself – to behave gentlemanly. Since his assistant had ran off in tears – he could tell, again, from his uncanny sixth sense – he'd made those tears fall. Now the enormous burden of regret, shame and guilt seemed to quadruple in volume, and if he wanted to get that off his chest, he had to do something. That 'something' was what muddled him up. What should he do, exactly? What do the protagonists in manga do, exactly?

He ran to a bookshelf and pulled out an issue of Weekly Shonen Jump. Was the answer here? After he flipped through a few pages, he threw the issue away impatiently. Nada. He got another out. And another.

And another. And another. And another. By now, ten issues of Shonen Jump were littered on the ground, and Niizuma raked his hands through his hair, willing his 'genius' mind to come up with ingenious ideas. Luffy The Straw Hat was too busy entertaining his goal of becoming Pirate King and finding One Piece and gaining complete freedom; Naruto The Orange Ninja was besotted by Sakura The Pink Ninja, true, but he was overcame with her sheer wrath, that he was unable to argue with her, and besides, he was too busy to stop Madara The Masked Ninja a.k.a. Tobi to think of his beloved right now; Ichigo The Deputy Soul Reaper had no conflicts with both Orihime and Rukia, since he had zero interest/tolerance (?) for girls, at the time being.

For the first time in his eighteen years of life, shonen manga couldn't help him, or even give him comfort. Perhaps shojo manga might have a slight chance, but he had no taste, nor patience, for pointless fluff and cheesy lines of "I LOVE YOU PLEASE BE WITH ME FOREVER YOU ARE THE CENTRE OF MY UNIVERSE I JUST WANT TO PROTECT YOU COME HERE SO THAT I CAN KISS YOU". No way was he going to touch shojo manga. Except Aoki sensei's. Although the cutesy scenes of A Time of Greenery pissed him off, sometimes.

His wandering fingers found a spine of a specific tankobon volume. He peeked at the title.

Yotsuba&!... Yotsuba wasn't even a guy. Great art and endearing scenes that made you remember your childhood, but sadly, no can do.

He should open the door. Then what? Will he ignore her? Or will it be her ignoring him? The latter was too hard to imagine or accepted. If she did that, he won't be able to continue on Crow for the whole day!

This will be for the wellbeing of Crow; he WILL find a way to speak to her.

His ultra-sensitive hearing caught the sound of almost-heavy footfalls, outside the corridor. A spasm came.

Why was he so nervous? It's not like she was a contaminant or something. He hid behind the door, and flattened his ear against the wood.

He could hear her breathing. Her almost-silent sigh. He could almost hear her moving her hand towards the doorknob.

He got to it before she did; the door opened.

He quickly escaped to his seat, and picked up his dip pen to start on the inking. Then there were the backgrounds. Then it was the refining of the speech bubbles and quotes. Then he must give her the blacks to be colored in and the shadows to be filled in.

Then… Then…

Darn. He couldn't concentrate. She was in this unit, taking her shoes off, and he felt the slight tremors of the ground as she walked in. Something rustled behind him, and he guessed that it was her bag. Oddly, her footfalls were heavier than normal. She paused for a brief moment. He knew that she was looking at the TV screen, and wondering why the heck Luffy's rubbery fist was aimed towards the TV audience. After arranging something – was it her clothes? – she sat down on her seat, and the rustling began again. Taking her stationery out, scratching her scalp. Then some fidgeting, and silence.

From the angle he was sitting, he couldn't even glance at her without turning his head to the side.

Was it worth the risk? Could he turn? Won't she notice?

As he slid finished drafts, one by one, letting the 'chips' fall wherever they may be, he positioned his head just an inch to the right, and his pupil followed.

Wait. Was that even Luna? He couldn't tell. A thick burgundy winter coat shielded her frame, making her look like a bulging dumpling. A woolen hat covered her long hair, not even a single loose strand in sight. A scarf hided her neck, and it was BLACK. She… she wore a mask. A green mask that surgeons wore during operations.

Was it dress-up day today?

He looked and looked. Until.

"What are you staring at?"

He almost jumped. ALMOST.

"Why, I mean, don't you feel hot?" He asked nervously. Even though he could see her eyes – they were NOT burning! Where did those banked fires go?! Now she looked like everyone else! – the inability to figure out her expression, to gauge her current mood, was frustrating. He wanted that mask off. He wanted to see her face, and look for traces of adjectives underneath, whether they were positive or negative ones. Human faces weren't able to fool experts; even a single twitch of an eyebrow can tell psychologists something useful about yourself. Niizuma wasn't a psychologist, but he may as well get the job.

Mask. Has. To. Be. Taken. Off. He couldn't stand this. Not even if she were sick. If she could still talk with a strong voice, she wasn't really that sick.

"Don't worry about me." She spoke in a monotone, so it made his job of deciphering HER even more difficult.

An inner volcano VOOSHED with life within him. This. Was. Unfair.

Why was she the one who gets to treat him like that?

Why did he have to be pelted with worries and angst all day long, when she wasn't even batting an eyelash at conversing with him?

Why did he have to ransack his own possessions to find out what he could do to earn her FORGIVENESS?

Why was he even making an effort to FIGURE HER OUT?! WHHHYYYYYYY?!

He wanted their roles to be reversed. So he could do the rejecting without revealing his hurt. One more important question: why was he even feeling HURT?!

But first, he had to have that mask taken off.

Balling his clammy hands into fists, in a swift second, his previous nervousness of a coward vanished. He walked with enormous strides towards Luna, HIS eyes, scorching with heat. Intent, with only her in his line of focus. In about five microseconds, he was standing right before her.

He was taller than her. He was older than her. He was more experienced than her. (In terms of manga making and the fact that he lived longer in this world enough to understand… well, the world.) He wasn't about to be squashed beneath her. She looked up at him in nonchalance, but her eyebrow twitched once, and he knew the nervous curiosity and the hint of fear, under her façade. Now he knew. A guy standing before you, staring at you with a bizarre intensity, your composure would still have frayed a little at the edges.

"Take that off." He said, pointing his index finger at the tip of her mask. He didn't want to exert force if necessary. He needed her to submit first.

As expected, the unveiled reluctance prevailed, and she shook her head. Maybe out of respect, she kept her eyes on him. They were beginning to show signs of glimmering, those eyes of hers. Great. He wanted them to BURN LIKE INCINERATORS.

Bringing his hand under her chin, albeit not roughly, when he didn't want to hurt her, he leaned down until their faces were level. He was that tall.

Her orbs widened, but she didn't push him away. Their gazes held, both not flickering. Both sides were way too proud and confident, and they didn't want to back down from anything that might happen. Green into brown. Hard determination met calm passiveness. She wasn't fully passive, he could tell, from the slight quivering of her jaw.

He crumpled his fingers around the thin, smooth material. He felt the bony structure of her face. It was oval-shaped.

It all took no more than one moment. Her mask was discarded, thrown off to possibly the other side of the room.

Now he could appraise her. Now he could see her, just the way she is.

His hand didn't let go, yet. Instead, it moved up, his fingers grazing her smooth cheek. It slithered up to her forehead, nearly smooth, save for some lately-developed zits. Her skin was quite warm. His finger slid down her nose, like a skier skiing off a steep slope. And then he touched her mouth. With his hand. Her warm breath tickled his fingers. Her mouth was not too thin, nor too thick like sausage lips. It was full, rather like the petals of a flower…

Disturbing thoughts ran over in his head. Mouth. Ki-

What?

Oh no. NO. That cannot be… He cannot be…

The magic string broke. The twinge of ache in his leg lengthened to a longer, tighter muscle-stiffening-hell-brewing-in-his-calf-and-kne e-torture. He shuffled, and stood up. Sauntering back to his seat, his fists relaxed. How long had he stood there?

What would have happen, if he…?

That was a question too difficult and scary to be answered. He was in control of himself. He couldn't let his emotions rampant. Crow wasn't finished yet. Think of manga. Think of drafts. Most of all, think of Shonen Jump.

…

All was quiet. Except for two young adults breathing in and out. The girl's breathing was slightly labored.

Luna's cheeks were very warm. Was she getting a fever?

Did that fever stemmed from his touch? Okay, that was preposterous. So she was left to contemplate, and to mellow down her body heat. She had been getting the feeling that she was just a millimeter from bursting into flames, and now the heat took leave of her body, leaving her feeling a hollow, icelandic Arctic region in her heart.

What she couldn't figure out, was her sensei's queer behavior.

Maybe it was her fault to start with, when she refused to discard the mask. What's wrong with leaving the mask on, when you had a cold and didn't want to pass it to other people? She was doing it for everybody's wellbeing. And he had went along and TOUCHED her, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin, her mouth. She couldn't guarantee that he'll be totally fine, when he'd had such close contact with her. Talk about UBER-close. That closeness was what exactly made her flame up, it seemed, given the evidence that as his hand – he was so gentle – grazed specific parts of her face, her toes had crinkled together, she'd got a dormant shiver in her Achilles tendon, and the fact that she actually had an urge. An urge to…

An urge to embrace him.

She knew that Niizuma sensei was all about manga and Shonen Jump, but that didn't stop her from thinking of OTHER things. As far as things go, he didn't even show signs of being attracted to girls or – unbelievable, but must be included – guys. The closest adoration she'd ever witnessed was his strong feelings for Ashirogi sensei. Though he didn't blush when he mentioned them. Until today, she may have not had an inkling that he was… I don't know, sentimental? He certainly looked royally feral when he ordered her mask to be off. She was taken by surprise, that she didn't even tell him of her reason to bundle up in the first place! Now everything that had happened seemed funny and hopeless. He didn't know she was sick, and maybe thought that she put on the mask simply for the purpose of annoying him, and he took it off for her. She didn't want him to nose into her business, and she gave a wrong answer. Clearly a wrong, stupid answer. "Don't-worry-about-me" was a sick, masochistic reply.

If she had wanted to save herself form this dilemma, she might not have shaken her head in the first place, after his ruthless command.

But now, she had to sweep these thoughts away, and concentrate on her job as a manga assistant. Also, indulge in the hopeful prospect that she might nab a serialization.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry that I've misspelled Niizuma's name wrongly for NINE chapters. I'll edit them when I'm free...


End file.
